This Is Going To Be Fun
by Flurblewig
Summary: Xover: BuffyLife On MarsTorchwoodDr Who. Sam Tyler meets another timetraveller & realises the world is even weirder than he thought, while Rhys meets the Doctor & realises that being a Buffy fan is going to come in handier than he ever dreamt possible.
1. Chapter 1

Title: This Is Going To Be Fun

Author : Flurblewig

Fandom: Buffyverse/Life On Mars/Torchwood/Doctor Who

Genre: Comedy drama, with a side order of crackfic :-)

Rating: PG13

Characters: Ethan Rayne, Rupert Giles, Sam Tyler, Rhys Williams, Jack Harkness, Tenth Doctor (so far)

Pairings: None (yet)

Summary: Sam and Rhys have some unexpected encounters and lots of people learn more than they ever wanted to know about the nature of reality...

Prologue

_You are tiny. I can see the whole of time and space - every single atom of your existence, and I divide them._

The host commands, and the power obeys. The dalek race no longer exists. It has never existed.

_Everything must come to dust... all things. Everything dies. _

Energy cannot be created or destroyed, but only changed from one form into another. The sum of all energy in a system is constant.

_I bring life... _

The host commands, and the power obeys. But it is not enough. One life cannot restore the balance. Where there has been destruction, there must be creation: a new world, a new history, to replace that which has been erased.

_I can see everything. All that is... all that was... all that ever could be._

But the host is fading, and cannot communicate the vision. The power must create, so it searches for itself. There are no more commands, but there are blueprints. A new world. The power flares, and a new history now exists. It has always existed.

Bilis Manger looks up from the accounting spreadsheet he's been working on. Nothing seems amiss in the little office, but he isn't fooled; appearances mean very little. He turns his attention back to the computer and flicks to another spreadsheet; this one listing the dates of prophecies, festivals, scheduled reincarnations and known interdimensional confluences. Today's date is conspicuously blank.

'Interesting,' he says, and turns his attention outward. He closes his eyes, spreads his fingers out wide and goes searching.

What he finds is a surprise, and it's been a very, very long time since Bilis has experienced that particular sensation.

He'll need to do some research to master the fine details, but he has enough background to be going on with. The extrapolation is so creative, so perfectly aligned, that he claps his hands with the sheer beauty of it.

He finds what he's looking for, because he always does. 'Hello', he says, 'would you like some assistance?'

There is shock, and joy, and a flaring of hope. _Who are you? Is that--is that Janus? _

'That's as good a name as any. What is it you want?' He listens, and nods. 'That can be done, and I can tell you how.'

The jubilation fades._ I don't have that kind of power. _

'No. But I know a suitable source. Trust me. I will show you where to look.'

Bilis smiles. This is going to be so much fun.

Monday morning is never good to start with. First shift on Monday morning is shitty. First shift on Monday morning on guard duty is really shitty. First shift on Monday morning on guard duty outside cell #687-b is as shitty as it gets. When he signed up with the Initiative, Josh expected missions: cool and interesting and maybe a little dangerous. He expected to have some fun. What he didn't expect was to be stuck outside these goddamn glass boxes for hours on end, counting his own nose hairs to stop going mad through boredom. How come he always gets this old freak, anyhow? The guys on the demon rows sometimes have to step in and enforce a little calm, and the guys with vampires at least get to have arguments. But Mr #687-b doesn't fight, he doesn't talk, he's never even so much as curled his lip in Josh's direction. All he does, day and night, is sit on the bed with his legs crossed and his eyes closed. He doesn't even levitate or anything. He's _boring_.

Josh walks up to the cell, his feet dragging ever slower the closer he gets, to where Pete Wricken is waiting to hand over. Old Pete is about three weeks from retiring and four from croaking, and he only gets light duties. He saw some action in his day, though, so he don't mind taking it easy. He's one of the lucky ones. The only action Josh has seen so far was on his training video. He gives Pete a half-hearted nod and steps up. 'Hey, Pete. Anything go down that I should know about?'

As if.

Pete shakes his head. 'Naw. He's been quiet as a lamb, as always.'

Josh frowns. There's codes they really ought to be using, environment green or somesuch, but it changes every few days and there really don't seem to be much point. It's not like anyone's listening.

He looks at the occupant of the cell. Maybe he is listening after all. Maybe it's all a big act, to put them off the scent while he hatches some evil master plan.

Yeah, right. Josh waves Pete off and taps on the glass. 'Hey, you,' he says. 'Ethan Rayne. You still alive in there? You up to no good?'

He doesn't expect a response, and it shocks him more than he'll ever later admit when Rayne's head turns to face him. He gives Josh a slow, beatific smile and then his eyes roll up in his head and his body flops backwards on the cot like all the bones got taken out of him. Josh gapes for a second, blinking fast, but when the scene before him stays real he gropes for the emergency alarm.

It seemed like Rayne had said something right before he collapsed--his lips had moved, definitely--but the CCTV sound isn't that sensitive and when they run the tape they can't make it out. Josh didn't hear it properly either, but the bigwigs say they want his best guess and so he tries to give them just that. He doesn't go with what he actually first thought it was, because that doesn't make a whole lot of sense. He finally decides it must have been 'set me free'. They don't know what happened, but Rayne's in a coma that the docs don't hold much hope of him coming out of, and that sounds a lot more fitting for somebody's official last words. It must have been right, anyway--Rayne hadn't spoken a single word for three years or so, why the hell would he break that silence to say 'seventy three'? There's no sense in that at all.

Sam thumps his fist into the dashboard, but it doesn't help. It hurts, but not enough. Maya's face still overlays everything in front of his eyes, like a half-seen ghost.

Ghost.

Bad word choice.

Looks like he can't get anything right lately, doesn't it? Can't satisfy her, can't inspire her, can't save her.

Can't save anybody. Maybe not even himself. Maybe especially not himself.

Sam stops the car. He can't see properly, and that makes him a danger on the road. He needs to stop, take a few minutes and get himself together. He's no good to anybody like this.

He takes a deep breath and gets out, leaning against the side window. There's a roaring sound that he doesn't quite have time to identify as another car, and then nothing.

Except a voice, so faint and wee, that says something like _this is going to be fun. _

First it was not. Now it is, and always has been.

It is sentient, but not sane.

It thinks that is how it should be.

It is white. Clean, untouched. A blank slate. It could travel, it could rule. Or it could play. It decides for itself, now.

A cat becomes a child again. An empty room gains a television, and a floppy clown doll.

All the better to have fun with.

When he kisses her, he feels it. As she changes from goddess back to just his sweet, brave Rose, he realises what's happened. The time vortex slides and he _sees_ it, in all its vast unimaginable glory. He's torn between horror--because really, some of that stuff was a seriously bad idea--and awe, because as jaded as he is you can't be a witness to Creation and not be just the tiniest bit impressed. In the end he laughs, because it's Rose, and only she could do something like this. He holds her close, because for now that's all he wants--just to feel her in his arms and be thankful that however crazy it was, it worked--although he knows he'll have to deal with it at some point.

But then he dies, and that kind of takes his mind off it for a while.

Chapter 1

The car smells of smoke, stale beer and greasy burgers. Sam winds down the window on the pretence of getting a better look outside. 'So who are these guys we're watching, Guv?'

'Londoners,' Gene says, and the word might just as well have been _lepers_. 'Poofters at that--and don't, Sammy boy, be giving me any more of that homophobia guff. I call it like I see it, and what I see here is a bunch of poofters.'

'You can't just make snap judgements on the basis of what someone looks like.'

Gene lifts his hand, slaps it against Sam's shoulder and points out the window towards the group walking down the street. 'See him, there, in front? Unless I am very much mistaken, that is a feather boa he's wearing. A pink one. And do I see eyeliner? I think I do. Ergo, poofters. That's not a snap judgement, it's a lesson in the art of visual observation.'

Chris leans forward from the back seat. 'One of 'em's a woman, Guv.'

Gene turns round and glares at him. 'Bunch of poofters and a skirt, then. Satisfied?'

Chris nods happily. 'Due care and attention has been paid to the facts of the situation. Yes, Guv.'

Gene rolls his eyes and Sam rubs his chin in order to hide his smile.

'You,' Gene says, 'are a bad influence on my officers.'

'Right, Guv. Because we don't want little things like facts getting in our way now, do we?'

'And you're a smartarse. Anybody ever tell you that, DI Tyler?'

Sam shrugs. 'It might have been mentioned in passing.'

Gene straightens up. 'And speaking of passing, so are our boys. And bird,' he adds over his shoulder to Chris. 'So I think it's about time we went and had a nice little chat about exactly what kind of commerce has just been transacted in Catweazle Clarke's front room. Shall we, ladies?'

He opens the car door without waiting for a reply and strides across the road, leaving Chris and Sam to scurry after him.

The group they've targeted isn't paying them any attention. 'I can't believe you made us come all the way down to this godforsaken hole,' one of the men is saying in a voice that sounds like it would be cultured if it hadn't been roughened with cigarettes and an East London accent that seems like it's being tried on for size. 'I could have got all of that from Kieran and it would've cost less than we've just spent on petrol.'

'Godforsaken hole,' Gene says, turning back towards Sam. 'Did you hear that? Bloody tourists, they've got no respect.'

The suspects slow down, eyeing the three of them warily. Five men and a woman, all barely out of their teens by the look of it.

'Oh, I don't know,' says the one with the feather boa. 'I find the place rather quaint.' He's thin--no, lean would be a better word--and holds himself with a dancer's poise. He stops, flips the boa over his shoulder and lights a cigarette, eyeing Sam, Gene and Chris with blatant amusement.

'Ethan Rayne,' he says, holding out a hand. Sam notices that the nails are manicured and the sleeve of his shirt is rolled up to show a weird looking tattoo on his inner forearm. 'And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?'

Gene's eyes narrow and he ignores the hand. 'You might come to reconsider whether it's a pleasure, sonny Jim, but you are addressing Gene Hunt. DCI Gene Hunt, which effectively makes me the Sheriff of this particular godforsaken hole.'

'The police,' Ethan murmurs. 'How exciting. Tell me, Sheriff Hunt--are they true, all these delicious rumours I hear about police brutality?'

Gene gives him a ferocious grin and takes a step forward. 'Play your cards right, and you might just find out. Chris, get on the radio, get the van out here. I think we'll be treating Mr Rayne and his pals to a tour of the station. We can demonstrate our hospitality with a nice cup of tea and a few Garibaldis – and you can demonstrate yours with whatever illicit substances you picked up from our dear friend Catweazle. Deal?'

The others trade nervous glances, but Ethan just smiles and holds out his hands, wrists together. 'Better get extra restraints, Chris. I might not be able to control myself under the influence of all this testosterone.'

Chris flushes, runs back to the car and busies himself with the radio. Ethan drops his hands back to his sides and continues to smile. 'I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed. Our friend Mr Clake isn't quite in the same league as his namesake. You know Catweazle was a wizard, Sheriff? And a time traveller. Rather a fascinating story.'

'I'm sure. Be a good lad and save it 'til bedtime. Chris! Where's that bloody van?'

'On its way, Guv.'

The one who'd made the 'godforsaken hole' crack steps forward. He's darker haired, about the same height as Ethan but more solid-looking. More physical. There's something about him that seems vaguely familiar, but Sam can't place it. 'What exactly are we under arrest for?' he asks.

Gene looks him up and down. 'Wearing make-up in a built-up area. That do you to be going on with? I'm sure we can add to it if we need to.'

'I think--'

'Yeah, well, that's where you're going wrong, son. Try less thinking and a bit more shutting up and doing what you're told.'

Ethan gives a blissful sigh. 'The alpha dom in its natural habitat. It's an honour to watch you work, Sheriff.'

Gene points a finger in his face. 'And _you_ are starting to get on my last nerve. You'll have the honour of watching my fist do some work if you don't pack it in.'

Ethan mimes pulling a zip across his lips, and lounges back against the wall. His eyes meet Sam's, and a thoughtful look comes over his face. He straightens up again, then leans forward a little and breathes in deeply.

'Well,' he says. 'What do we have here, hmm? I smell interference, I smell dislocation, I smell the hand of chaos. I smell _magic_.'

Gene snorts. 'Nah, I think you'll find that's just stale Brut and yesterday's chips.'

Sam gives Gene a baleful look. 'Yeah, well,' he mutters under his breath. 'You can't exactly get Calvin Klein around here.'

Ethan's gaze intensifies and he purses his lips. After a minute or so he turns to the others lined up along the wall with him. 'You know,' he says conversationally, 'it occurs to me that there are three of them and six of us.'

Gene turns back to face them and folds his arms. 'Oh, so you fancy your chances, do you?'

Ethan grins. 'With you, Sheriff? Always.' He looks at the others. 'Run!'

There's a moment of confusion and then they all take off, leaving Sam, Gene and Chris looking at each other. Gene shakes his head. 'Kids these days. 'No respect for the law. Well, what are you waiting for? Get after them!'

Sam runs, finding himself on Ethan's heels in a matter of seconds. Immediately, Ethan turns and puts his hands in the air. 'Oh dear, looks like you got me.' He grins, lowers his hands and brushes a non-existent speck off the shoulder of his velvet jacket. 'I never run anywhere if I can help it. Sweat is so unattractive unless you're naked.'

Sam coughs. 'Er, yeah. Right.'

'Ethan! For heaven's sake, come on!'

They both look up to see the dark-haired man hovering a few yards away, while the others are already disappearing into the distance. Chris doubles back, obviously having given up on catching them. 'It's all right, Sam,' he yells. 'I've got him.'

Ethan sighs, pulls the feather boa from around his neck and flicks it out towards Chris. It tangles around his legs and he trips, ending up sprawled in a heap on the pavement.

'Go on then,' Ethan says. 'Get out of here.'

The other man hesitates, looking from Ethan to Sam. 'Ah, Ripper,' Ethan says. 'Loyalty always was your weak point, hmm? Go on now, _go_.'

Sam starts to move forward, and finally he turns and hares off. Sam shrugs, grabs Ethan, spins him around and snaps on the cuffs.

'Don't worry,' Ethan says. 'I'll come quietly.'

Sam raises his eyebrows. 'Why do I have trouble believing that?'

Ethan grins. 'Obviously because we've already bonded. You really are such a sweet boy.'

Sam tugs him along, back towards a pissed-off-looking Gene. 'I don't think you get to call me any kind of boy, mate. I've got at least fifteen years on you.'

Ethan gives a low chuckle. 'Don't be so sure. I look good for my age. Very, very good. Even if I do say so myself.' He slows his pace as they got nearer to Gene. 'How old do you think I am, Sam?'

'It's DI Tyler. And I don't really care. You're over eighteen, and that's all that matters.'

'Is it? I wonder. I think maybe you're a lot more interested in age, and time, than perhaps you let on.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'I think you know exactly what it means. Come now, don't be coy.'

Ethan drags his feet even more, but Sam doesn't hurry him up. Instead he stops walking and steps up close. 'What are you talking about?'

'How old are you, Sam? I don't mean physically,'-- he looks Sam up and down--'anyone can see you're a man in his prime--but _you_. How old is what's inside?'

'All right, I've had enough of this. If you've got something sensible to say then get on with it. Otherwise you can shut the fuck up until we're ready to take your statement.'

Ethan looks unruffled. 'What would you say if I told you my body was 21 but my mind was 55?'

Sam laughs. 'I'd tell you to stop smoking whatever you were buying from Catweazle Clarke. Just say no, mate. Trust me.'

Sam tries to start dragging Ethan forward again, but he resists. He's putting some actual effort into it this time.

'Look, get moving. This'll go better for you if--'

'Just say no,' Ethan says in a musing tone. 'What wonderful advice. That would make an excellent anti-drug advertising campaign, don't you think? I can see posters, TV ads, storylines in children's programmes, maybe even--yes, I think a pop song. Did you come up with such a catchy little slogan all on your own, Sam? I'm not sure you did. I think maybe you had help, hmm?' His eyes search Sam's. 'Dear old Grange Hill. They don't make them like that any more, do they?'

Sam stops pulling, but keeps hold of Ethan's arm. He grips it tighter. 'I've asked you this before and I want a proper answer this time. What are you talking about?'

Ethan looks down at Sam's hand until he releases the pressure a little, then smiles. 'I think you know exactly what I'm talking about, Mr I-wish-I-could-get-Calvin-Klein-aftershave. But, okay, you want a proper answer. I can do that. I'm talking about the manipulation of temporal energy to facilitate the transference of consciousness. Or, to use less formal terms, time travel.'

Sam just stares, his breath solidifying in his throat.

'Tyler! Are you bringing that suspect in, or cuddling with him?'

Sam shakes himself. 'Uh, yeah, sorry, Guv.'

'Get a move on, then. The van's here, get him inside. I'm not having this one get away.'

'It's quite all right,' Ethan says, still looking at Sam. 'I'm not intending to go anywhere. Things are just getting interesting.'

Gene looks disgusted--even more so than the time he sat on Chris's half-eaten prawn sandwich. 'Are you taking the piss? Herbs? _Herbs?_ That's it, that's all we got? No drugs? Not even a fucking couple of aspirin?'

Ray shrugs. 'Sorry, Guv.'

'Jesus. And there's no outstanding warrants? He's not wanted for, you know, mass murder or anything?'

'No, Guv. He's as clean as a nun's knickers.'

'Fuck it. All right, turf the little bastard out, then. Him and his feather boa. Get him out of my nick.'

Sam waits a discreet five minutes after Ray leaves before following. He finds Phyllis handing Ethan back his possessions, including the offending boa, while Ray leans against the wall and watches with his arms folded. Ethan looks up as Sam appears. 'DI Tyler. What a pleasant surprise. Come to wave me goodbye, have you?'

Sam scratches his ear. 'Where are you staying?' He sneaks a look at Ray, but succeeds in not quite making eye contact. 'In case we need you for, uh, further questioning..'

Ethan wraps the boa around his neck and smoothes it down. 'Well, I had originally been planning to return to London tonight but since you chased away my associates I'm not sure that's going to be an option now. Do you perhaps know of somewhere I could stay the night, Inspector? If so, we could continue our previous fascinating conversation. I'll even allow you to buy me a drink.'

Sam shifts his weight from foot to foot. 'If you're really stuck... I have a--a couch...you could...' he trails off and glances at Ray, whose responding look of disgust is good, if not quite up to Gene's level.

'Christ. You got a real thing about picking up the lowlife waifs and strays, haven't you, Tyler?' He pushes off from the wall and turns his back on both of them. 'Just try not to let this one handcuff you to the bed, eh?'

'Yeah. Funny.' Sam points at Ethan, who's raised his eyebrows so far they're almost in his hairline. 'You. Not a word. Come on.'

He can't face explaining Ethan to Nelson so in the end they just end up hitting an off licence on the way back to his flat. When they get inside, Ethan looks around with an expression that beats both Ray and Gene combined. 'Nice digs.'

Sam cracks open the Scotch and pours a generous measure into two of the least chipped mugs in his collection. 'Yeah, well, I didn't exactly get to pick out of a brochure, you know?'

Ethan settles himself cross-legged on the bed and holds out a hand to take the mug Sam offers. 'Why not? It seemed to me that the selection process was quite precise.'

Sam perches on the edge of the armchair and takes a long swallow from his own mug. 'What do you mean?'

'Are you going to play dumb again? I thought we'd moved past that.'

'Humour me, okay? Pretend I am dumb. Pretend I need all this explained to me in words of one syllable.'

One corner of Ethan's mouth quirks up. 'Tough assignment, but I'll try my best.' He sips his Scotch. 'Can we start with the stipulation that neither of us are native to this time, or do we have to dance around it some more?'

Sam takes a deep breath and nods. 'We can start there. So--if you're not native, as you put it, then where are you from?.'

'Let's just say that I was in a rather... restrictive establishment. To remove myself physically had proved to be rather a problem, so I was forced to look for other methods of liberation.'

'You were in prison?'

'It lacks a certain poetry when you put like that, but yes, that's essentially correct.'

'Where?'

'Geographically, somewhere in Nevada. Chronologically, 2006.'

'And so you time travelled to the past. To here.'

'My consciousness did. My body is still back there, but--' he shrugs, and runs a hand down the front of his chest. 'I can make much better use of this one. This was a good time for me. Much more fun. And who hasn't thought about what they'd do if they could life their life over? Although there are some things--' he breaks off and grins, raising the mug to Sam. 'Some _people_ I fully intend to do all over again, there are also some experiences that, with the benefit of instant hindsight, don't seem such a good idea.' He rubs at the tattoo on his forearm, then leans back on one elbow. 'And now it's your turn, Detective Inspector Tyler. Why are you here? And how? I'd rather like to compare notes on that.'

Sam gives a brief snort of laughter. 'I'd like nothing better, but I haven't got a clue. It was 2006 for me, too. I had a car accident, and I woke up here. I think my body is--well, I think I'm in hospital, in a coma. I hear things sometimes, things from back then. I don't know how, or why. I wish I did.'

Ethan sits up again. 'You mean--this wasn't deliberate? You didn't perform a ritual, invoke any gods?'

'No, I didn't. Definitely not.'

'And you didn't make any wishes to any solicitous young ladies with unusual pendant necklaces?'

'What? No. I didn't do anything. I just got hit by a car.'

Ethan purses his lips. 'So rather than being a dark mage bent on causing havoc to the timeline, you're just an innocent bystander?'

Sam nods slowly. 'Yes, I suppose I am.'

'How very disappointing.' Ethan drains his mug and holds it out for more. Sam eyes it for a few seconds, then shrugs and refills them both. As he leans over the bed, he grabs Ethan's shoulder and squeezes it hard. It earns him another of those raised-eyebrow looks.

'Sorry. I just--I wanted to make sure you were real. That I'm not imagining this. I thought--for a long time, I wondered if I wasn't just going crazy.'

'Poor lamb. No, I can assure you it's all quite real. This and many other things besides.'

Sam let's out a long, slow breath. 'You don't know how long I've waited to hear someone say that. Okay, so how do I get back?'

'Hmm?'

'To 2006. How do you reverse it? The--invocation, or whatever?'

Ethan gives him a look that seems to hold genuine sympathy. 'Sorry, dear boy, but this was a one-way ticket only. There's no going back.'

Sam shakes his head. 'No. No, I can't believe that. I can't accept that. There has to be a way. Anything that can be done, can be undone.'

'In my experience, I'm afraid that's not often the case at all. I'm sorry, Sam, but you're stuck here. We both are.' He puts the mug down on the floor and lies back flat on the bed, his hands tucked behind his head. 'So we might as well start making the most of it, wouldn't you say?'

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  


Whatever some people might think, Rhys isn't stupid. He knows what's going on.

Well, no, to tell the absolute truth he hasn't got a clue. But he knows that _something_ is going on, so he should get points for that, shouldn't he? Phone calls at all times of the day and night, long hours--crazy long hours, even for a committed job like the police; aren't there rules and regulations about that sort of thing, these days?--overly bright smiles when she says that everything's fine, of course it is, and excuses, excuses, excuses. When she's tossing and turning all night, keeping him up, it's because of work. When she doesn't come home until stupid o'clock in the morning--if she makes it home at all--it's because of work. When she doesn't even want to cuddle because she's too tired or bruised, it's because of work.

Work. Right. Of course it is.

Gwen suddenly stops walking, and Rhys spins round and stares into the window of the shop in front of him--nothing suspicious here, just a perfectly innocent bit of window shopping. His eyes focus and he realises too late that it's a lingerie shop he's found himself outside of. Perfect. Now he looks like a pervert as well as a stalker.

He bites his lip and reaches up a hand to scratch his head, using it as cover to sneak another look at Gwen. She's ahead of him by thirty yards or so, yammering into that fancy phone of hers that never leaves her side. Luckily, it looks like the conversation is taking all her attention and not leaving any left over for worrying about whether she's being followed. He lets out the breath he'd been holding.

It catches in his throat when a hand falls on his shoulder. 'Hi there,' says a warm, American-accented voice in his ear. 'Help you with something?'

Rhys jumps, taking a half-step backwards and nearly falling over his own feet. 'No, no, all fine, thanks, just looking.' Gwen's moving off again, the phone still jammed to her ear, and he tries to follow.

The owner of the hand doesn't move it from Rhys's shoulder. Belatedly, Rhys realises that this doesn't really look like a lingerie sales assistant. He's not an expert in corporate fashion, but he doesn't think that great swirling military coats are standard issue for shop workers. Especially not when they swirl at just the right angle to unveil very real-looking guns. They might have a zero-tolerance shoplifting policy in Cardiff town centre but he doesn't think that extends to arming the staff.

'It's Rhys, right?'

Rhys blinks and looks up. The voice and the smile are both as casual and comforting as a pair of slippers, but Rhys can't help his gaze being drawn back to the gun. The stranger follows his gaze and the smile widens. 'I should probably introduce myself. Captain Jack Harkness, at your service.' He even bows slightly, but that hand feels like an iron clamp on Rhys's shoulder.

Rhys lets out the breath he'd forgotten he was holding. Of course. It all falls into place now. 'Right,' he says. 'The famous Jack. I've heard about you.'

That doesn't get him any particular reaction. There's something about this man that suggests people having heard about him is the natural state of things. Unfortunately in this case it's not really true; Rhys has overheard the name Jack in hurried conversations that mostly seemed to be in code--the villain they've nicknamed 'Weevil' sounds like a particularly nasty piece of work--and it seems like this is the man in charge, but that's about the limit of his information.

The hand is pushing down, manoeuvring him around. 'Why don't we go somewhere a bit nicer and get to know each other?'

Rhys stiffens and flicks a look over his shoulder, but Gwen is already out of sight. He relaxes, and shrugs. Well, why not? Surveillance obviously isn't his strong point, and this looks like it might be the best shot at some information he's likely to get.

'Okay,' he says. 'You're buying.'

Jack gives him a big, appreciative smile and the hand lifts, only to come back down, with the whole arm this time, around him. Rhys is squeezed once, hard, and then released.

'Let's go,' Jack says, and strides off without a backwards look. The coat swirls some more, making Rhys think of those shampoo adverts where carefully directed breezes fan out models' shiny curtains of hair around their shoulders. Rhys lifts his arms up, looking down at his own just-hanging-there jacket--the weather never conspires to make _him_ look good-- then gives himself a little shake. This is a serious mission he's on, he has to stay focused. He hurries to catch up.

He follows Jack away from the main street and into a dark little pub, and how is it that Rhys has lived here all his adult life and never seen this place before, and yet Jack walks in like he owns it, and gets treated like it too? Rhys simmers quietly as the barmaid ignores at least two other people conspicuously waiting in order to bring Jack a large glass of water without being asked. She looks at Rhys and says, 'Pint?'

He scowls at her--it feels necessary, to balance out Jack's 100-watt smile--and feels like ordering a port and lemon or something, just to try and get back some sense of control. In the end, though, he just nods and says, 'Pint.' He sits at an unwiped table and slams the untouched drink down, letting it slop over the side of the glass. He's supposed to be the local here, the one at home, so why does he suddenly feel like such an outsider?

Not, of course, that it's actually all that sudden. It dawns on him that he's been feeling like an outsider in his own life for a while now.

Jack pulls out the chair opposite and sits down, giving Rhys a slow and very obvious once-over as he does it. Rhys lifts his chin and stares back, trying to resist the urge to suck in his gut. He might not be a black ops commando, Delta Force or whatever the fuck this guy is, but he's not going to be intimidated.

Much.

'So,' he says, folding his arms, ' you're the one keeping my Gwen out all night, are you?'

He's pleased with how it comes out: calm, not aggressive, but with an undercurrent of warning to it. It makes him sound like a man who knows what's going on, and who isn't going to stand for it. Not quite a threat, but definitely a challenge.

Jack doesn't say anything, just looks back at him with a half-smile on his lips and an expression in his eyes that Rhys can't read. He can't help thinking he's being catalogued and assessed, and maybe found wanting. He leans back in his chair, trying to look confident and at ease. It's a struggle. He has to fight the sudden urge to get up, walk away and forget all about it. Welcome Gwen back from wherever she goes with cocoa and a cuddle and a 'did you have nice day at the office, dear?' Take what he's given, take it at face value. It's not that bad a life, is it?

He swallows, trying to work up some saliva in a mouth gone desert-dry. When he was seven years old, he'd gone on a family holiday to Torquay. He'd gone swimming, just a little kid with an inflated sense of his own ability, and got out of his depth. He's never forgotten how it felt when he put his foot down and found nothing there.

Looking at Jack right now gives him a strangely similar feeling.

What exactly has he blundered himself into, here? What has _Gwen_ got into?

That thought both steadies and unnerves him in equal measure. He doesn't care any more if she's having an affair. He hopes she is; hopes that when he's lying in bed in the middle of the night on his own, that she's romping around in someone else's bedroom and not out on the streets with guns and this strangely terrifying man.

Jack leans forward, and it takes everything that Rhys has not to flinch. 'What exactly are you asking?' he says in a low, measured voice.

Rhys takes a breath, but he's saved from having to work that out when Jack gets a call. An expression that could be irritation, concern or both flashes across his face and he holds up a finger to Rhys in a 'wait' gesture. He turns slightly away, one hand up to his ear. 'Go ahead, Tosh,' he says, then, 'When?'

He listens for a few more seconds, and his eyes flick to the door. It's a move Rhys has seen a lot of, lately. He knows what it means. He's up out of his seat as soon as Jack is.

'I've got to go,' Jack says. 'I'm sorry.' His tone is all business, very final.

Rhys shakes his head. 'I've had enough of Gwen running out on me all the time, I'm not having it from you as well, now.'

Jack takes a step forward, one hand going to Rhys's upper arm. Rhys cuts him off before he can speak. 'Is she safe?'

Jack blinks. 'What?'

'Gwen. You asked me what I want to know. That's it. All this, whatever it is that you do. Is she safe?'

There's a long pause while Jack seems to be searching his face. What he's looking for and whether or not he finds it, Rhys isn't sure, but at least he answers.

'No,' he says.

Rhys lets out a long, slow breath, and nods. He'd thought he was looking for the truth, but now he's not so convinced of that. Maybe the reason Gwen found it so easy to lie to him was because he didn't really want honesty at all.

'But she knows what she's doing,' Jack says, and his voice is gentler now.

Rhys laughs, and it sounds a little shaky. 'I'm glad someone does.'

Jack smiles, and squeezes his shoulder. 'It'll all work out. Trust me.'

Oh, and doesn't Rhys wish he could do just that? He understands it a bit better now, can see the attraction of this kind of life. Of this kind of man. Jack Harkness has a kind of gravitational pull about him, even Rhys can feel it. He can't blame Gwen, not really. He should have known cocoa and CSI would never be enough for her.

'I'm sorry,' says Jack, and he sounds it this time. 'But I really have to go. Maybe we can--' he breaks off, staring at a point over Rhys's shoulder. Rhys turns round to check what he's looking at, and sees a tall man in a pinstripe suit standing in the doorway of the pub. There's a big grin on his face.

'Hello, Jack,' he says, bouncing on the soles of his feet. 'Good to see you again. Did you know you've got weevils?'

'Yes, thank you,' says Jack, and there's an odd tone to his voice. Rhys watches him walk towards the stranger and raise a hand to his face. There's a long pause and Rhys can practically hear the electricity crackling between them. Most of the pub are staring now, but neither man shows any sign of being aware of anything but each other. Rhys shuffles his feet, feeling uncomfortably voyeuristic but equally unable to tear his eyes away.

The kiss, when it comes, feels like a relief; breaking the almost unbearable tension. He darts a look at the barmaid, who shrugs. 'You get used to Jack,' she says.

Somehow, Rhys doubts that.

After what seems like half an hour at least, the kiss finally breaks. Pinstripe Suit beams hugely and opens his mouth to speak, but before he can say anything Jack draws an arm back and throws a straight, solid punch right in his face. He stumbles backwards, knocks over a table and ends up on his arse on the stained carpet. He wiggles his jaw slowly from side to side, and wipes a speck of blood from his lip. 'Well,' he says, climbing to his feet and brushing his jacket down, 'I suppose that was fair. A bit on the cliched side, but undeniably fair.'

'Damn right it was fair,' says Jack, and his hands are still balled into fists by his side. 'Where have you _been?_'

The stranger puts his head on one side and seems to be counting. 'Alderon 3, the Canyoris Nebula, the Amazon rainforest in the tenth--'

Jack holds up his hand. 'I wasn't asking for an itinerary, and you know it.'

'I do, I do. I'm sorry.' He looks up, putting his hands in his pockets. 'I didn't know, Jack. That you were, you know, there. Not until you were already gone again. I tried to track you, but--' he pauses. 'You blend, these days. It wasn't easy. And then there were--other things.' He stops again, and seems to have trouble swallowing. 'Rose. She, she--'

'I know.' Jack runs a hand through his hair. 'I have--sources of information. I know what happened.' He takes a deep breath. 'So why are you here? Now?'

The stranger lifts his head and smiles, recovering his equilibrium. It looks like it costs him. 'I thought you might be interested in an adventure.'

Jack raises his eyebrows. 'An adventure.'

The smile widens and looks more genuine. 'Yep. A bona fide adventure. With vampires. C'mon, what's not to love? You can bring your friend.' He beams at Rhys.

Jack looks at Rhys and blinks, as if he'd forgotten about him. 'Um, I think maybe that's not such a good idea.'

Rhys takes a step towards the stranger. 'Who are you? And did you just say vampires?'

He finds his hand grabbed, gripped and pumped energetically. 'I'm the Doctor. I'm sure Jack must have told you all about me.'

'Well, no.' Rhys darts a look at Jack. 'Actually we haven't known each other very long, and--'

The Doctor grins. 'Jack always was a quick worker. Yes, I did say vampires. Fascinating creatures. Would you like to meet one?'

'I--'

'Splendid, splendid. Shall we go, then?'

'Wait, wait,' says Jack. 'Maybe we ought to just slow things down a minute.'

The Doctor turns back, looking impatient and shifting his weight from foot to foot. Jack, there's a whole new alternate reality out there, just waiting to be explored. What are we waiting for?'

Rhys looks from the Doctor to Jack. 'Alternate what?'

Jack gives the Doctor a look that Rhys can't read, and goes to the bar. He comes back with a shot of whisky, which he hands to Rhys. 'You might need this,' he says.

Rhys frowns at both it and Jack. 'Why?'

'Outside this pub is a blue police box. It's called the TARDIS, and that stands for Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. It's a space ship, and a time machine. Humanity is not alone in the universe, and all the things that you only half remember or have dismissed as the result of drugs or an overworked mind, or whatever other excuse you come up with, are real. Aliens, particularly. The Doctor isn't human. And quite honestly, I'm not too sure about me.'

'Right,' Rhys says, and knocks back the drink.

Jack lays a hand on his shoulder. 'The reason Gwen has been--well, the way she has, is that she knows all this. She works for me, in an organisation called Torchwood. It is Special Ops, in a way--just not quite in the way she allowed you to assume.'

Rhys stares into the glass. 'Gwen. My Gwen. Chasing aliens.' He begins to laugh. 'I thought she was having an affair.'

'I know. I'm sorry, Rhys.'

Something in Jack's tone makes Rhys look up. 'Why? What for?'

'Because come tomorrow, you're probably going to be thinking that again.'

Rhys shakes his head. 'No. Not now. I get it, now. I understand. We can--'

He breaks off, seeing Jack's face. 'What?'

'You won't understand. You won't remember.'

Rhys stares at him, then down at the glass in his hand. There's a thin white residue in the bottom of it. 'You son of a bitch,' he says wonderingly. 'What did you do to me?'

'We call it RetCon. It's effective, but harmless. I'll see that you get home, and you'll wake up in the morning just thinking you had a heavy night on the beer. I'm sorry,' he says again.

'Jack,' says the Doctor, and there's a reproving note to the way he says the name. 'Is that really necessary?'

'Yes, it is. It's for his own safety. And don't give me that look.'

'But--'

'There's no point in arguing, I've made my decision.'

'No,' says Rhys, backing up. 'You might have but I bloody well haven't.' He looks around, and his gaze settles on the ashtray on a nearby table. It looks like it hasn't been emptied since the pub was built.

He grabs it, and tips the contents into Jack's pint of water. He swills it around, holds it up to Jack and gives him a grin that's really just a baring of teeth. 'Cheers.'

He tips his head back and swallows the contents of the glass in one go, ashy liquid dribbling out of the side of his mouth and down his shirt. He hears a noise come from his throat that's somewhere between a cough, a hiccup and a moan, doubles over and vomits explosively onto the sticky carpet.

There's a long moment of silence, finally broken by the sound of applause. Rhys groans and slowly straightens up again, to see the Doctor clapping with an amused look on his face. 'Good for you,' he says. 'Make sure you get it all out of your system before we get inside the TARDIS, though, okay?'

Jack throws up his hands. 'Fine,' he says. 'I give up.'

Rhys grins, feeling triumphant if still more than a little queasy. He spits out the remains of a cigarette butt into the glass, and the barmaid appears at his shoulder. 'That's it,' she says. 'My patience has limits, Jack Harkness, even for you. Out, of all you. You're barred.'

'That'll be our cue, then,' says the Doctor, still grinning. He turns towards the door, then stops and swings back. 'Oh, while I think of it, something that I really need first.' He pauses, looking from Jack to Rhys. 'Would either of you happen to have a set of Buffy DVDs?'

Jack stares at him. 'You want what?'

'Buffy DVDs. You know, Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Very good show, I'm told. Or videos will do. Although... no, I think I cannibalised the video player when we broke down on Karabrathian that time. Yeah, DVDs would better.' The Doctor nods and looks at him expectantly.

Jack pats his pockets. 'That's a shame, because it looks like I left my DVDs at home today. Weapons, computing and communication I can do, but TV shows? I'm fresh out.'

'I've got some,' Rhys says.

They both turn to look at him. 'I loved Buffy,' he says. 'It was my favourite programme. I've got it all the DVDs, the novels, everything. It was the best thing on television, I watched it all the time.'

The Doctor grabs his arm, eyes gleaming. 'Is that so? Bit of an expert then, are you?'

Rhys shrugs. 'Gwen always used to take the piss, say I could go on Mastermind and have it as my specialist subject. She never got into it, not really, but I loved it.'

The Doctor breaks into the biggest grin Rhys has ever seen. 'Fantastic. Right, let's go.'

Jack holds up his hands. 'Go where? Doctor, what is all this?'

'No time,' the Doctor says, dragging Rhys towards the door. 'I'll explain when we get there.'

'Get _where_?'

The Doctor claps Rhys on the back. 'Sunnydale,' he says.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sam pours himself another generous measure of whisky and swirls it around. 'No. I don't accept that. There has to be a way back.'

Ethan lays back on the bed with his hands tucked under his head. 'If so, I'm afraid I don't know what it is. A return trip was never on my list of priorities.'

Sam leans forward, the mug held out before him like an offering. 'Then put it on there now. You have to help me.'

'I do?' Ethan raises one eyebrow. 'And why is that, exactly?'

'Because you're the only one who can. You're the only one who knows about all of this, the only one who doesn't think I'm insane.' Sam looks down, staring into the whisky. 'You're the only one who believes me.'

'My poor boy. Has it been dreadfully lonely?'

Sam tosses back the whisky in one long swallow that burns his throat. 'Fuck you,' he says, but that fails to diminish Ethan's smirk.

'Now that,' Ethan says, stretching languorously, 'I certainly could imagine putting on my To Do list.'

Sam gets up, all the muscles in his body tense with the need to do something; fight, scream, run, _something_. He starts pacing, as far as the limited floor space will allow. 'This is all just a big joke to you, isn't it? Well, it isn't to me. This is my life.'

'Ah, Sam. Life _is_ a big joke. Haven't you figured that out yet?'

Sam stops, and rubs his eyes. He can't quite figure out Ethan's tone--can't quite figure out Ethan full stop--but under the top layer of obvious amusement it sounds like there might possibly be something approaching genuine sympathy. It makes his jaw clench.

'I just want to go home,' he says. He knows--and hates--how vulnerable that makes him sound, but he's tired. So very, very tired.

'I'm sorry,' Ethan says, Sam could almost believe that he means it. 'I can't make that happen.'

Sam brings the mug to his lips but then realises it's empty. He sits down again and refills it, spilling some onto the carpet. 'All right. Explain it to me. The time travel thing, how it works, everything. I'll figure it out for myself.' When Ethan says nothing, he looks up. 'Please.'

'Really, Sam. You expect me to give away all my trade secrets? Just because you're pretty and you ask nicely?'

Sam exhales heavily, then puts the mug down. 'No,' he says, pulling out his gun. 'Because otherwise I'll shoot you.'

Ethan just laughs. 'Sam, Sam. I applaud the bravado but really, you're not going to do any such thing.'

'Don't be so sure. I'm more than half convinced that this is just all in my head anyway, and if that's the case I can do whatever the hell I like in my own delusion and it won't make any difference.' He strokes the gun, keeping it trained on Ethan all the time. 'If you're not real, maybe you'll just disappear in a puff of smoke. If you are, maybe you'll die. I don't know, and at this point I'm not really sure I care. Frankly, I'm about ready to take the chance. Are you?'

Ethan doesn't move, but he starts speaking rapidly in a language that Sam doesn't understand. He opens his mouth to speak, but it turns into a yelp as the gun suddenly freezes in his hand; the metal so cold it burns. He drops it and tucks his hand under his armpit, crushing it against his body in an attempt to warm some life back into it. Ethan leans down and picks the gun up.

'Primitive,' he says, turning it over in his hands, 'but effective. Rather like that spell.'

Sam stares at him, his hand beginning to tingle with pins and needle as feeling slowly returns. 'What was that? What the hell just happened?'

Ethan smiles widely. 'Magic, dear boy. Very useful for self-defence.'

Sam makes a tentative fist, clenching and unclenching his hand. 'Magic. Great. Oh, this just gets better and better.'

Ethan twirls the gun, lifting his mug to his lips with the other hand. 'You were the one who pulled your weapon first, I just responded with my own. You should try to be less uptight, Sam. Is this the decade to say 'chill out'? I can't quite remember. But regardless of whether it's appropriate slang, it's definitely good advice. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. I've seen what happens to men who get laced too straight, and it isn't pretty.'

'Trust you, right. Didn't you just say you were in prison, before? Somehow, you don't strike me as the greatest role model I've ever met.'

'Technically it wasn't a prison, more of a security facility.'

'For time-travelling wizards?'

'The politically correct term is mage, thank you. But yes, in way. For anything the Initiative were scared enough of, really.'

'The what?'

'Testosterone-fuelled marines hell bent on privatising the demon underworld for the glory and profit of Uncle Sam.'

'The _what?_'

'Never mind. We should probably work up to demons later.'

Sam laughs. 'No, it's fine, I've got no problem with demons. Why not? Time travel, wizards, magic spells, a hell of a lot more on heaven and earth than dreamed of in philosophy, or whatever the fuck that quote is, I can never remember Shakespeare. Demons, absolutely. Bring 'em on.'

Ethan glances round the room. 'The quote wasn't too bad, but you might want to think about being less free and easy with the invitations. You never know what might be listening.'

'Maybe Gene's a demon,' Sam says. 'Or no, no, Ray. Ray's definitely the demon sort. That would explain a lot, really.' He sees that his whisky has evaporated again, and refills the mug. He looks at Ethan over the top of it. 'Can I have my gun back, please?'

'I think maybe I'd better hold on to it for a while. For safe-keeping.'

'Can you shoot demons?'

'You can, but it doesn't achieve a great deal. Slows them down, sometimes.'

'So how do you know? I mean, that someone's a demon?'

Ethan smiles. 'The biggest give-away is usually that they're trying to eat you. Most demons are obvious, really, in the sense that they look like--well, like you imagine demons would. Fangs, horns, slavering, the whole deal. Some can take human form, though, at least part of the time. Vampires being the obvious example.'

Sam straightens up so fast he nearly falls out of the chair. 'Vampires? There are vampires? Really? The whole Dracula thing?'

'Yes, indeed. Although Dracula himself was a bit of an anomaly, and rather a disappointment. From what I heard, it seems that Buffy made quite short shrift of him, in the end.' He sighs. 'I'd had such high hopes, too.'

Sam peers at him. 'Did you say Buffy? You know somebody who's actually called Buffy?'

'For my sins, yes. Ridiculous name, isn't it? Quite brings the whole calling into disrepute. I did try to convince Ripper to make her change it, but he always was completely impossible where that girl was concerned.' He leans back, and smiles. 'Of course, this time I get to try that much harder to convince him of a lot of things.'

Sam snorts into his Scotch. 'Magic, demons, Dracula, Jack the Ripper, Buffy. Is this what I sound like? No wonder Annie thinks I'm nuts. Maybe you're just more insane than I am.'

Ethan shrugs. 'I've been called sociopathic, but I think labels are so restrictive, don't you?'

'Right, yeah. So, so--' Sam frowns, trying to get back on track. He was sure there had been a track, once. 'Yeah, so--magic, right. That's how you got here, then? That's how you did the time travel thing? Magic?'

'I can't tell you how I got here, Sam.' The smirk flashes again. 'And I'm not being difficult for the sake of it, amusing though that was. I can't tell you because I don't know.'

'What do you mean?'

'I had a contact, and he took care of the practical arrangements.'

'A contact? Who?'

'I didn't particularly concern myself with the specifics, just the results.' He shrugs. 'I'm sure you know the standard advice about gift horses.'

'And you just woke up here?'

'More or less, yes.' Ethan runs a hand down his chest. 'In this wonderfully lithe body that I really did not appreciate fully the first time around. I intend to rectify that error in judgement.'

'So--how did _I_ get here?'

'Honestly? I have no idea. Maybe it was a buy one, get one free deal.'

'But I don't _want_ it. I don't want to be here.'

'Come now, it can't be that bad, can it?' Ethan looks around at the flat. 'Well, not entirely that bad. After all, you get to live your prime again. There must be millions of people who'd give anything for that chance.'

Sam shakes his head. 'But I haven't finished living my prime the first time.' He pats himself on the chest. 'This is the same body I started with. This is me, as I was. I'm 37. In 1973, I was four. Four years old. I've even seen myself.'

Ethan frowns. 'So your consciousness didn't transfer into your previous self? This is your own body? Are you sure?'

'Sure?' Sam laughs. 'I haven't been sure about anything for a long time, but yeah, it feels like my body. Except for the fact that I also have visions of a hospital, a modern hospital, and sometimes I hear things, feel things--things that make me think my body is hooked up to a life support machine in 2006 and all this is--well, I don't know what this is.'

'Now, that is strange.' Ethan gets up off the bed, and bends over Sam. 'Do you mind?' he says, and before Sam can respond he's produced a small knife from somewhere and drawn it across Sam's forearm. Blood wells immediately in a thin red line.

Sam cries out and tries to pulls his arm away, but Ethan holds on fast. He rubs a finger across the cut, then touches it to his tongue. The sight makes Sam's stomach lurch violently, and he pulls harder. Ethan lets him go, and he just about makes it to the toilet in time.

'Sorry,' Ethan calls. 'Bit vampiric, I know, but it's the only immediately reliable test without a lot of chanting and faffing about with ingredients that I'm sure you won't have. Anyway, the good news is that the body you're in is human. How, I don't know, but at least that's something.'

There's a pause, and then he speaks again. His voice sounds different this time. 'Well, hello there. And who might you be?'

'You hurt Sam,' comes the reply. 'You shouldn't have done that.'

Sam freezes, then quickly wipes his mouth and rushes back out. Ethan is standing in the middle of the room, staring at the television. By the side of it stands the little blonde girl, holding her clown doll down by the floor. Sam looks from her to Ethan. 'You can see her?' he asks in a whisper.

'Of course I can,' Ethan says, not taking his eyes from her. 'And I can sense her power, too. So please, young lady, accept my apologies. I assure you I didn't mean to cause any offence. Or any damage to our dear Sam.'

The girl walks towards him, her head on one side. 'You mustn't hurt him,' she says again, and Ethan nods vigorously.

'A simple misunderstanding, no more. I shall be much more careful in future, I promise.'

She turns to Sam, who swallows and holds out his arm. 'It was nothing,' he says. 'A scratch, that's all. I'm fine.'

She looks at him for a long time, then nods. And disappears.

Sam sinks down into the armchair again, squeezes his eyes shut tight and counts to ten. He opens them again to see Ethan settling back down onto the bed.

'Well,' Ethan says, 'wasn't that interesting?'

Sam blows out a long breath. 'I've seen her before, but I thought--I thought I was imagining it. I thought she was just in my head.'

'No, she was real. It appears you have a guardian--well, something. I'm not quite sure what, to be frank. Certainly not an angel. But that was most definitely the manifestation of something extremely powerful, and something that's extremely interested in your well-being. Curiouser and curiouser.'

Sam lets his head drop forward. He needs a moment to think, to get himself together. He's sure it will all make sense if he can wrap his mind around it. He just needs to close his eyes for a minute.

Just for a minute.

The door flies in with a crash that makes Sam jump and twist in the chair and somehow end up in a heap on the floor. His eyes are stuck together and his throat seems to have closed up completely. He gets to his knees and coughs, finally managing to prise his eyelids apart a few millimetres. Bloody Gene. Still, at least this time he's not--

Wait. He holds that thought until he can bring his hands up in front of his face, reassuring himself that the wrists are free and empty of metal. Yes, at least he's not handcuffed to the bed, or anything else, this time.

'Don't you ever knock?' he croaks. 'Or you know, maybe I should just get you a key. It'll cost less in the long run to do that than keep replacing the locks.'

'Your door get kicked in a lot then, does it?' says a voice. It isn't Gene's.

Sam cranes his head upwards and sees a tall dark-haired man looking down at him. There's a lit cigarette in his mouth, which he takes out and flicks down at the floor. Sam blinks and just about rolls out of the way before it hits his cheek. 'Hey!'

There's movement from the bed, and Sam sees Ethan--a tousled, apparently naked Ethan, and how the hell did that happen?--roll over. 'Oh,' Ethan says. 'Hello, Ripper.'

Sam quickly looks down at himself, but--thank all that's holy--he's still fully dressed. 'Great,' he says. 'A hangover, a naked wizard and a man called Ripper. When did this become my life?'

He pulls himself into a sitting position, then tries for completely upright. Half-way, he gives it up as a bad job and sinks back down again.

'When you didn't come back,' Ripper says, looking down at Ethan. 'I thought you might need help. I see I was wrong.'

'You were,' Ethan says. 'But I appreciate the thought.' He yawns, stretches and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He seems supremely unconcerned about his nakedness.

Ripper lights another cigarette. 'Those things will kill you,' Sam says, although he doesn't really know why. You'd think he would have learned the pointlessness of that comment from the times he's tried it on Gene.

Ripper gives him a look that's somewhere between amusement and pity. 'I doubt they'll have the chance.'

'Ripper subscribes to the "live fast, die young and leave a good-looking corpse" philosophy,' Ethan says, smiling. 'Personally, I intend to live until I'm a decrepit old bag of bones aged at least 205, but then life would be boring if we all thought the same, wouldn't it?'

Sam keeps his eyes on Ripper. 'So, are you a wizard--sorry, mage--too?'

'I'm a--' Ripper starts to say something, then clamps his jaw over whatever word was going to come next. Having done that, he doesn't seem entirely sure what to put in its place. 'Friend of his,' he finally finishes, nodding his head towards Ethan.

'Where are my manners?' Ethan says. 'Ripper, meet Sam Tyler. Detective Inspector Sam Tyler. My newest and most exciting project.'

Ripper stiffens. 'I see,' he says to the wall above Ethan's head. 'Magical project, or sexual?'

'I'm not sure, yet. I haven't made my mind up.'

'Hey!' Sam says. 'Sitting right here.'

Ethan gives him a fond smile. 'Yes, but not really looking in any fit state to contribute towards the decision. Leave it all to Uncle Ethan, dear boy.'

Ripper starts pacing the room. 'So, is he a replacement for one of us? The ritual of Eyghon specifies five participants, and if--'

Ethan waves a hand. 'Oh, that. I've gone off that idea. Eyghon is so last week. No, Sam here has an extremely powerful astral contact that I had the brief pleasure of meeting last night, and I think that's going to be a far more profitable area for us to explore.'

Ripper sits down on Sam's armchair, pushing the empty Scotch bottle onto the floor. 'What kind of astral contact?'

'Much as it pains me to admit my shortcomings, I don't know. It took a submissive form--that of the charming young lady who models for the Test Card, strangely enough, complete with clown doll--but was a generating a background level of power that made my teeth vibrate.'

Ripper looks down at Sam. 'It's under his control?'

'No, no, I don't think he has any conscious link at all. But it did manifest in response to a perceived physical threat to him.'

They continue talking, but Sam understands less and less of it with every word. He sinks back down until he's lying flat on the floor again, and closes his eyes. In a minute, he'll get up. He'll get these two out of his flat, get himself together, get things back on track.

In a minute.

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It looks like Gwen's just got home when Rhys rushes in, which surprises him At some point he'll get around to being pleased about it, but right now he's got a few other things on his mind.

'What are you doing, love?' she calls out from the kitchen as he starts scrabbling in the DVD cupboard.

'Oh, you know,' he says, as he stacks up the Buffy box sets under his chin. 'I didn't think you'd be back until late so I thought I'd amuse myself. Bit of a TV fest, bit of interdimensional time travel, maybe stop off for a curry on the way home, that sort of thing.' For good measure he grabs the Angel sets and a Watcher's Guide as well, and chucks the whole lot into a carrier bag.

He plants a kiss in the middle of her eyebrows, where a confused frown is starting to furrow the skin. 'Don't wait up, eh?'

He nips back outside to where the Doctor and Jack are waiting, wondering whether he ought to be a bit ashamed about just how much satisfaction that had given him. The Doctor beams and claps his hands when he catches sight of him, and Rhys decides the answer's no.

When they get back to the TARDIS Rhys tips out the DVDs, and Jack starts rummaging through them. He whistles. 'This is a lot of television. Considering it would take... oh, I reckon about ten days straight to watch it all, we're going to need to be selective.' He looks up at Rhys. 'Can you pick out the most important ones? The ones that give the most information about this place, and what we might be dealing with? You can fill us in on the rest as we go.'

The Doctor claps Rhys on the shoulder. 'You can be our official Cultural Liaison, how does that sound?'

Rhys grins back. It sounds quite good, actually.

The Doctor fiddles about under one of the panels for a while and then a three-dimensional version of 'Welcome to the Hellmouth' starts playing in mid air in front of his nose. 'Holographic technology revolutionises the entertainment industry,' the Doctor says. 'For a while, anyway. But not for a few years yet, so...don't go messing things up by inventing it or anything, okay?'

Rhys nods, mesmerised by the sight of Xander skateboarding into the Doctor's left ear. 'Okay.'

The Doctor reaches under the panel again, and comes back out with a a pair of candy-striped deckchairs. Another rummage produces a large packet of toffee-covered popcorn. There's no way all of that would have fitted in the tiny space it came out of, but Rhys has already dealt with the whole bigger on the inside thing. Using 'dealt with' in the sense of 'decided to worry about later', of course. It's a tactic that's worked in the past, so why change a winning formula?

'Here we go,' the Doctor says. 'You've got to have snacks. It's just not the same otherwise.' He throws the popcorn to Rhys.

'What?' he says, off Jack's look. 'Like you said, we've got a lot of television to watch. Might as well do it properly. There's probably even some beer around here somewhere. I'm sure Mickey had a secret stash.'

Rhys discreetly pinches his arm, but apart from leaving fingernail marks in his skin, nothing changes. 'Look, not that an evening in front of the telly--well, in front of whatever the hell that thing is--watching Buffy isn't my idea of a great night, but could one of you two please tell me exactly what the hell's going on?'

'Over to you,' says Jack, folding his arms and looking at the Doctor. 'I'm quite interested in the answer to that one myself.'

'Right, right, yes. Of course. Well, to explain it properly would take a large computer, a lot of complicated equations and about thirty five years. But the short version is that when Rose--that's a friend of ours, she travelled with me for a while--used the power of the time vortex--that's kind of the engine in the TARDIS--to defeat the daleks--that's, um, well, let's just say the bad guys--it actually de-created them. It re-formed the universe into a new configuration that didn't include them--that had never included them. But nature abhors a vacuum, right? Energy can never be destroyed, it can only be changed--so something had to replace the daleks throughout time and space. Since the only blueprint available to work from was inside Rose's head, it took what it could find. And that happened to be the Buffy universe.' He grins at Rhys. 'She was a big fan, too. Her and Jackie. Loved Xander. Wish I'd paid a bit more attention myself, now.' He turns round again and nods at the projection. 'He's quite cute.'

Rhys slumps into one of the deckchairs. It's not made of canvas but some sort of warm, vaguely rubbery material that moulds itself to his arse. He freezes, and for a second it all teeters on the edge, but he holds it together. The TARDIS is just about the most mind-bending thing he's ever seen in his life--apart from possibly that time he unexpectedly caught Brynn Morgan's mum in the shower when he was eight--but it's just going to have to go on hold for now. He'll get round to freaking out about what he's seen later, some time when he's got over freaking out about what he's just heard.

'So,' he says slowly. 'It's... real? It exists? Buffy Summers and Sunnydale, there really is such a place?'

The Doctor nods, settling himself into the deckchair next to Rhys. He reaches over to grab a handful of popcorn. 'Yep. Sunnydale, Buffy, and the whole universe around them.' He grins at Jack, who's still standing with his arms folded. ' That was our Rose, never did anything in half measures.'

'But--vampires. There were _vampires_.'

'Absolutely. And did you know, there never were any such things? All those legends, all the stories--and they never actually existed, anywhere on Earth in any time--or anywhere else for that matter. It was complete fiction, all of it.' He grins. 'Until now, anyway.'

'But--_vampires_. Real vampires. And magic, and demons, and evil, and school teachers who are really giant preying mantises!' Rhys can hear his voice rising in pitch with every word.

In front of him, a holographic Giles thwaps the huge 'Vampyr' book onto the library counter and Rhys flinches back right along with Buffy. Jack studies it intently. 'So what's the plan of attack? How do we destroy this place? Unmake it?'

The Doctor stops chewing, a piece of popcorn halfway to his mouth. 'Oh, good heavens, no. Can't do that. This is a whole new dimension with billions of people in it, it's not their fault that they didn't exist six months ago. They don't know that, they think they've been around just as long as we have. Can't just go around unmaking whole planets, it wouldn't be fair. And anyway, I'd have to absorb the power of the time vortex to be able to do it, and I'm not going there again. I've only just got used to these teeth, I'm not giving them up just yet.'

Rhys rubs his eyes. He has a headache. 'So--what _is_ the plan?'

'Ah, well, I forgot to mention there was another complication.'

Jack lets out a snort of laughter. 'On top of the whole physical creation of a fictional universe thing? It's more complicated than that?'

'I'm afraid so. A little while ago I picked up a massive surge in temporal energy--and I mean huge, ginormous, off the scale. Of course my first thought was of the Rift, but when I started poking around it I found it went deeper than that. When I tracked it back, that's when I found it.' He gestures at the projection. 'The Buffy universe.'

'The surge went there?' Jack asks.

'No--it _started_ there.'

'How is that possible?'

'That's item 4 on the list of Stuff To Find Out.'

Rhys looks up. 'What are items 1, 2 and 3?'

'The what, the who and the why. And speaking of which--' he gets up and taps a screen on the console. 'We're here.'

Rhys stands up as well. The deckchair seems disturbingly reluctant to let him go. 'Where?'

'Well, an added complication to the complication is that when the temporal flux reached out through the Rift, I think it caught someone else in it--someone from our dimension. And since cross-inhabitation of dimensions is never a good thing in the long run, we really need to get them back. I tracked the path of the time-disruption signature to its initial source, so wherever we're at, it should be the place that it all started from. Hopefully we'll be able to find some clues.' He points at the door. 'Go and have a quick look, and see if you recognise it'

Rhys blanches. 'Me?'

'You're our expert, remember? We'll just do a quick recce, there's nothing to be worried about.' The Doctor nods encouragingly, and eventually Rhys starts inching towards the door. When he finally opens it up, he sees a brightly-lit, cavernous room with rows and rows of glass cells along each side. He whistles softly and steps out, closely followed by Jack and the Doctor. He notes that Jack's gun is in his hand, and can't decide if that makes him feel less scared or more.

In the nearest cell is a bed with a lot of complicated-looking machinery hooked up to it. Or rather, hooked up to a body in the bed. Rhys's eyes take in a recognisable face. 'Oh, shit,' he breathes.

Instantly, Jack is at his side. 'What is it?'

Rhys points into the cell. 'That is Ethan Rayne. Which means that this'-- he gestures around the room generally-- 'is the Initiative.'

'The what?'

'The Initiative. Season Four. A secret organisation that was trying to find ways to use demons for the military. They had a base in Sunnydale, but it all went horribly wrong.'

The Doctor nods thoughtfully. 'So trying to use technology that didn't belong to them came back to haunt them, did it?' He directs a very pointed look at Jack. 'How interesting.'

'It wasn't exactly technology, more like bits of demons, but yeah, that sums it up pretty well.' Rhys looks around. 'This must be the Nevada base, I'm sure that's where they took Ethan after 'A New Man'.'

Jack keeps his weapon down by his side while he checks out the cell. 'So who is this Ethan character? He our guy?'

'Could well be. Ethan was a sorceror, a powerful one, and a worshipper of chaos. I wouldn't put it past him to be trying time travel.' Rhys puts his hands against the glass. 'Maybe he was trying to escape.'

'Doesn't look like he was too successful then, does it?'

The Doctor steps up to the glass as well, waving a small metal gizmo about and peering at it. 'Definite temporal activity,' he says. 'The residue is unmistakeable. _Something_ travelled from this spot, but if it wasn't him, then--' he backs up, and walks straight into a rather gangly-looking young man in military fatigues. Rhys isn't sure who's more surprised.

The man blinks rapidly, his head swivelling between the Doctor and the TARDIS. 'What--who--what--'

'At ease,' says Jack. 'I'm Captain Jack Harkness of Torchwood Three, these are my associates. Is the situation under control?'

That sparks another frenzy of blinking. 'Um-'

'These are not the droids you're looking for,' Rhys says, and then starts to laugh. It has a hysterical edge that he can hear clearly but can't seem able to control.

'What's your name, soldier?' Jack barks, and the boy snaps to attention. Rhys has to resist the urge to do the same. He has to admit Jack does command mode very well.

'Josh, sir. I mean, Private Kellin, sir.'

'Private Kellin, I asked you a question. Is the situation under control?'

'You mean with 687-b, sir? Yes, sir. There's been no change in his condition since the incident, sir. Physically, there's no reason for the coma. He's absolutely fine, apart from there being no brain activity.'

The Doctor smacks his forehead. 'Of course. Yes, it has to be. He left his body behind but his _consciousness_ travelled. Oh, that's very clever. Very impressive. Okay, so now all we have to do is re-fold the wave distortion signature through the rest of the spectrum and Bob's your uncle.'

Private Kellin frowns. It's a slow process. 'Uh, sir, where exactly did you say you--'

'Yes, splendid,' the Doctor, says, grabbing Rhys's arm. 'Carry on, as you were.' They run for the TARDIS. Jack slams the door behind them and the Doctor goes into a running-and-button-pushing frenzy. The floor tilts violently under their feet and Rhys hits the wall hard. The Doctor beams at him. 'Isn't this fun?'

Rhys just nods. It seems easier to do that than try to argue.

After a while they rumble and jerk to a halt again, and Rhys follows Jack and the Doctor out of the TARDIS into what looks like a hospital storage room. 'Where are we now?' he asks.

'Back in our own dimension,' the Doctor says. 'Hopefully at the other end of the string, as it were. Now, if the spell was for mind transport only, then we're looking for another body with no consciousness. Is this a psychiatric hospital? We could be looking for someone with catatonic schizophrenia.'

'No,' Rhys says, looking at the floor plan on the wall. 'It's an ordinary sick-people hospital. So--we want someone who's also in a coma, right?'

'Right. Let's see what we can find.'

They find plenty of people unconscious, but only one who seems to be in an official coma--a man in a private room, hooked up to a bank of machines that beep quietly. A blonde woman is sat by the bed, reading a celebrity gossip magazine. She looks up when they enter. 'Hello, who are you?'

Jack steps forward, taking her hand. 'Hi, I'm Jack Harkness. It's very good to meet you, although I'm sorry it had to be under these circumstances.'

The woman accepts his handshake and a kiss on the cheek, giving him a smile that's warm but rather confused. 'Thank you, thank you. I'm Sam's mum. Ruth. Are you from the station?'

'No, no,' says the Doctor, surreptitiously waving the metal gizmo again. 'We're just friends of, um--'

'Sam's,' Jack fills in, turning up the wattage of his smile.

Ruth looks at all of them in turn, her expression turning ever more dubious. 'Right. I, er, I don't think we've met?'

'We're in his Amateur Dramatics group,' says Rhys.

Jack gives him a look, but Ruth smiles and relaxes. 'Oh, really? I didn't know Sam had got interested in acting.' She looks back at the man on the bed and squeezes his hand. 'He must get that from me. I always wanted to be on the stage myself, I was a dancer when I was younger, I would have loved to have done musicals but then I got married and had Sammy, and it was--' she breaks off, and gives them a slightly abashed smile. 'Well, anyway, that doesn't really matter now. It was very nice of you to come over to see Sam. I think it helps, you know, for him to have his friends here.' She stretches and gets up. 'I'm going to get a cup of tea, you boys have a nice chat now. Would you like me to get you something? They have some very nice teacakes in the cafeteria.'

The Doctor brightens up. 'Ooh, teacakes?'

Ruth smiles and pats his arm. 'I'll be right back.'

When she's gone, they all face the man in the bed. 'What happened to him?' asks Rhys.

The Doctor picks up the chart and scans through it. 'Physically, he got hit by a car. Metaphysically, he got hit by a massive convergence of temporal displacement fields when the power Ethan Rayne used to transfer his consciousness back down his timeline fractured after it took power from the opening of the Rift. Basically, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Although--' He pauses, looking up at Jack with an expression Rhys can't read. 'Tyler. His name is Sam Tyler.'

Rhys looks over the Doctor's shoulder at the chart, but it means nothing to him. 'Is that significant?'

'I don't know,' the Doctor says slowly, then seems to shake himself. 'Probably not. Coincidences do happen.'

Rhys smoothes down the cover on the bed. Tyler doesn't move, beyond the shallow rise and fall of his chest. 'So--he's like Ethan? His body stayed here but his mind went time travelling?'

'That's my guess, yes.'

'Where? Where did they go?'

'Now that, we still have to find out.'

'Don't tell me--more tracking of time distortion waves through the wormhole, or whatever.'

The Doctor pats his shoulder. 'By Jove, I think he's got it.' He leans over the man in the bed. 'Hang on in there, Sam Tyler, we're on our way.'

Back in the TARDIS, the Doctor spends half an hour running around the console punching buttons and checking readouts, then announces that they can put their feet up while the programme completes its calculations to track Sam and Ethan. Rhys puts the DVD back on and starts fast-forwarding through the discs, providing commentary as they go. Jack appears rather impressed with Spike, and says that Drusilla reminds him of an old flame. 'Beautiful girl,' he says, a wistful smile forming. 'But mad as a hatter. She used to like me to dress up as a priest and hear her confession, and boy did she have some stories to confess. And then we'd sneak into her local church and--'

The Doctor cuts in. '_Everyone_ reminds you of an old flame,' he says, rolling his eyes.

Jack grins, and shrugs. 'Occupational hazard, when you have a lot of history.'

'Speak for yourself.'

'I was hardly speaking for you, Mr never-met-an-opportunity-I-couldn't-waste, was I?'

Rhys gets the impression they've had this conversation, or variations of it, before. He moves quickly on to the Ethan episodes before he can get asked about his own romantic history. There isn't a great deal of it, apart from Gwen, and he doesn't really feel like admitting that in front of Jack.

He sneaks away while they're studying 'The Dark Age', and calls her. 'I might be a bit late home,' he says. 'Later than I thought. Like, maybe a couple of days. I'm on a rescue mission, see. With your Jack Harkness and an alien called the Doctor.'

''s'nice, love,' she mumbles, and he smiles.

'Go back to sleep,' he says. 'I'll see you later.'

He somehow manages to get lost on his way back to the control room, even though he would have sworn he'd only moved about three feet down one of the corridors. Going back the way he thought he'd come takes him into a giant sparkling industrial kitchen, where a single toasted cheese and marmite sandwich sits on a gleaming chrome counter. He scoffs it happily. Life in a magic spaceship obviously has fringe benefits.

By the time he gets back they've moved onto 'Passion', and Rhys is sure he sees the Doctor wipe his eyes. 'Poor Jenny', he says, then gets up to peer at the incomprehensible instrument panels and scribble something down in what looks like hieroglyphics.

Jack pats one of the deckchairs, which seems to have moved. 'I haven't seen any of these for years. Where did you pick them up?'

The Doctor frowns at the screen he's looking at, his nose only an inch away from it. 'Hmm? Oh, in a market on Aldekachik. Bloody stowaways. I didn't even realise they were here for six weeks. Still, I kind of got used to having them around in the end.'

Rhys backs away from his own chair and stands by the projection, taking up his commenting duties again.

They get through the edited highlights of half of Season Six, with the Doctor periodically jumping up and checking various instruments and readouts, before he sighs heavily and runs his hands through his hair. He turns around and leans against the console with a look on his face that Rhys is sure would be instantly recognisable to travellers in any universe whatsover.

He pauses the DVD. 'We're lost, aren't we?'

The Doctor folds his arms. 'No, no. Not at all. I know exactly where we are.' Jack raises his eyebrows, and the Doctor's shoulders sag a little. 'I just don't know exactly where Sam and Ethan are.'

'You can't find them?'

'Well, no, I'm pretty sure I can, it's just that the way it's going, they'll probably be about five hundred years old before I do.'

Rhys looks from him to Jack. 'So what do we do now?'

Jack looks thoughtfully over Rhys's shoulder at the DVD projection. 'I've got an idea. If the machines can't work out where Ethan went, and we don't know him well enough to guess...what about asking someone who does?'

They all turn to watch Giles frozen in the act of walking across the floor of the Magic Box. The Doctor beams. 'Brilliant,' he says, and runs back to the controls. 'Hold on to your hats, we're heading for the Hellmouth.'

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

When Sam wakes up again it's full daylight and the flat is full of the smell of bacon. His stomach both rumbles and flips over at the same time, which is a profoundly uncomfortable feeling.

He unpeels his face from the carpet and manages to get to his feet in only three attempts. Ripper is sitting in the armchair reading a newspaper, and Ethan is juggling frying pans in the little kitchenette. Neither of them acknowledges him, leaving Sam to get up and check the mirror to make sure he's still actually there.

He turns round again to see Ethan distributing breakfast. 'Yours,' he says to Ripper, handing over a thick white bread sandwich, 'and yours.' Sam gets a glass of water and a packet of aspirin. He accepts both, thinking that maybe the idea of a flatmate might have some merits in times of emergency. And he's pretty sure this hangover qualifies as one of those.

Ethan takes a mug of tea for himself and sits down on the bed. 'We took the liberty of making ourselves at home,' he says. 'I didn't think you'd mind, since you'd been so generous.' He pats the space beside him, then grins when Sam sits down on the floor again. 'It's all right, I don't bite. Unless it's requested, of course.'

Sam rubs his eyes. The word 'bite' sparks a vague memory of last night's conversation. Had they really been talking about... vampires? He looks from Ethan to Ripper, who's still engrossed in his paper. At ten o'clock in the morning, in the face of doorstep sandwiches and the Daily Mirror, the idea seems more than a little ridiculous. And Ethan--the time travel--had he imagined all that, too? What he remembers of the night has the surreal, elided edges of a dream.

'Er,' he says.

Ethan looks up from his tea. 'Yes, Sam?'

'Nothing.' Sam shakes his head and reaches for the glass of water. As he does so, he sees the thin red line of a recent cut across his forearm. He runs his finger along it and winces a little when he finds it still sore. Ethan watches, and a look of understanding comes across his face. 'Ah, I see. Yes, Sam, it was all real.'

'The girl--you saw her.'

'I did indeed. And I'm looking forward to meeting up with her again. Fascinating creature.'

'Right, right.' Sam pops out a couple of pills and takes a swig of the water. He wasn't dreaming, then. Not this time. He's not entirely sure whether he's relieved about that or not.

Ripper still hasn't said a word. It's starting to piss Sam off a little. Ethan may have invaded his home but at least he's making himself useful. Sam tosses the aspirin box at the paper Ripper's holding in front of his face. 'So, what's your story? Are you a time-traveller too?'

Finally, the paper gets lowered. Ripper looks down at him over the top of it. 'A what?'

'A time traveller. You know, from 2006. Like us.' He gestures to himself and Ethan.

Ripper stares at him blankly for a moment then slowly turns to face Ethan with his eyebrows raised. The look on his face is thunderous enough to qualify as a nine point five on the Richter scale.

'What is he talking about?' The voice is clipped and low. Dangerous.

'Presumably not, then,' Sam mutters.

Ethan sips his tea and gives Ripper a charming smile. 'Ah. Yes. I was coming to that.'

'Were you?'

'Absolutely, of course.'

'When, exactly?'

'Oh, I thought maybe thirty years or so.'

Ripper folds the newspaper very carefully and puts it down. The muscles move smoothly under his tight black t shirt. 'Want to bring that forward a bit?'

Ethan sighs. 'Okay. Look, the main thing is, I'm Ethan.' He spreads his arms wide. 'You know me, Ripper. You know who I am.'

'I know who you are--who you were--in 1973,' Ripper says. 'In 2006--' He shakes his head. 'I wouldn't even know where to start.'

'Oh, you'd be surprised. I'm not that different. A bit more--' he pauses, and runs his tongue over his teeth. 'Experienced, perhaps.'

Anger and fascination have been warring in Ripper's voice and expression for a few seconds now. He leans forward, and it looks like fascination is winning. 'What happens?'

And that's it: no protest, no 'you must be crazy', no disbelief at all. Just a quiet 'what happens?' Sam feels jealousy roil along with the vestiges of nausea in his gut. How come Ethan--who is, the grudging liking Sam is forming for him aside, a man who wears a pink feather boa in public--has so much more easy credibility than he does? He sips his water and thinks for a minute about what he would have given for Annie--for anyone--to have believed him as simply as that.

'I can't tell you what happens,' Ethan says.

'Now look, you can't--'

'I don't mean I don't want to, I mean I can't--it seems like the process has a built-in defence mechanism. I can remember inconsequential things like freak heatwaves, annoying pop songs and televisio adverts, but the important stuff about your own timeline gets fritzed out.'

Sam looks up at this, and straight into a fierce 'I know I'm talking bollocks but don't you dare contradict me' look that he'd thought Gene held the patent on. He says nothing.

Ripper's eyes narrow. 'Why don't I believe you?'

'Because you're a distrustful, arrogant young whippersnapper who thinks he knows better than his elders?' Ethan grins. 'Deny it, go on. You wouldn't even be here if you weren't.'

For the first time, Ripper seems a little uncertain. 'Are you really saying that you don't know, or you don't remember, what happens to me? You don't know whether I--you know--' he falters. 'The Council--'

Ethan shrugs, and turns his attention back to his mug of tea. 'It's a mystery. I suppose we'll just have to wait and find out.'

Sam watches Ripper. There's definitely something familiar about him. Something about the eyes, maybe, or the mouth. Or maybe it's the voice. Listening to him, Sam is increasingly convinced that the rough-and-ready Eastenders accent is put on. There are hints of far more cultured vowels underneath. He closes his eyes, tries to imagine that voice talking in a slower, quieter, more educated tone and almost gets it, but it slips away before his tired mind can fasten on it. He opens his eyes and studies Ripper again. The jeans and boots aren't the cleanest, but they're good quality. The hands are smooth and uncalloused and the nails neat, although scrapes around the knuckles indicate a recent fistfight. Five to one this is a rich boy rebellion; running away from home--or, given his age, dropping out of a posh university--to get pierced, get pissed and get laid with as many unsuitable people as possible. And God knows, someone like Ethan must top anybody's unsuitable list. If there's a Ripper Senior, Sam reckons he's cutting Junior out of his will right now.

'What's your name?' Sam asks. 'Your real name, I mean. I assume it doesn't say 'Ripper' on your birth certificate.'

Ripper gives him a look of pure disdain. Oh yeah, this kid's not from the streets of East London, however much he wants to be. Only money, aristocracy or both lends that kind of sense of superiority.

'None of your business,' he says.

'Fine. But I don't think my memory's quite as swiss-cheesed as Ethan's, and I'm about ready to swear that I know you from somewhere. So maybe I know your future, eh?' He grins. 'Most of the people I know are criminals or coppers. Wonder which one you might be?'

Ripper gives him a filthy look, but eventually mutters 'Rupert Giles.' Ethan seems highly amused by the whole thing, but then 'highly amused ' does seem to be his default setting.

Rupert Giles. Rupert Giles. It rings a bell, but it's a very faint, rather off-key one. Like his face, Sam just can't quite pull it into focus. Maybe he once put him away for something minor. Or rather, will put. Or maybe, now that he's met him, he won't. Or does the fact that Sam still remembers him mean that it must still at some point have happened?

Sam retrieves the pack of aspirin from where it had fallen under Ripper's chair. He has a feeling he's going to need it.

'I'll think about it,' he says, then looks to Ethan because he's the only one who seems to have any idea what's going on. 'So, are we changing things? Being back here, running around, you know, doing stuff? Does what we do change the future?'

Ethan tucks his legs under him. 'You can't really change what hasn't actually happened. Our past is now only a theoretical future. Unless, of course, you believe in prophesies and the general concept of destiny--' he breaks off and looks at Ripper--'which I know some people do. In which case what must be will still be, to whatever extent events--or results-- have been fated.'

Sam blinks at him. 'Is that a yes, or a no?'

Ethan smiles. 'It's a 'who knows?''

'Great. Some Yoda you are.'

Ethan laughs. 'Star Wars,' he says. 'I must add that to my list of investment opportunities. Okay, if you want my personal opinion-- I believe in the infinite parallel universe theory, and I think we left our old branch of the timeline and jumped onto a completely new one. So what I'm basically saying is that I think we can do whatever the hell we want.' He yawns and stretches out on the bed. 'And what I want right now is a nice kip. It was rather an exhausting night.' He scoots over. 'I don't take up much room, if you boys would care to join me...?'

Ripper watches him, and seems to be considering it. Sam hauls himself to his feet. 'I've got to go to work.'

'Shame. But far be it from me to come between a man and his duty,' Ethan says with a look at Ripper that Sam can't read.

'I need to shower,' Sam says.

Ethan raises his eyebrows. 'And? You want some company?'

'No! No, I just--I mean, this place isn't very big. It wasn't exactly designed for three people.'

'It's all right, we won't look. I promise.'

Sam gives up. 'This isn't--you're not moving in, right? You know that?'

'Dear Sam. I have designs on many things, but not on this flat. This is a base of operations, that's all. While we fine-tune the plan.'

'We have a plan?' He knows it's daft, but just hearing that word makes him feel better. 'Plan' belongs to the same family as 'order', 'logic' and 'reason', and that's _his_ family. He can't wait to be clasped back to its bosom.

'Of course we have a plan,' Ethan says. 'Track down your little friend, trick her out of her power source and exploit it in the name of chaos and personal gain. Wasn't that obvious?'

Sam groans, and heads for the bathroom. He doesn't get further than a couple of steps before the door crashes in again. 'Jesus,' he says. 'Shall I just put in a revolving door ?'

'Rise and shine, Tyler,' calls Gene. 'Time to--' he breaks off as he looks round the room, and spends a long, long time looking at Ethan lying on the bed. Ethan stretches sinuously, so that his t-shirt rides up to show a lean, flat stomach.

'Well,' Gene says. 'Isn't this a precious little picture of domestic bliss?'

For the second time in a very short period, Sam offers a prayer of thanks that his clothes, dishevelled and stinky as they are, are still on his body. Five minutes later and he would have been in the shower and Ethan and Ripper--well, no, he doesn't even want to finish that thought. He's just grateful that Gene's timing worked in his favour for once.

'Guv,' he says. 'This isn't--I mean we're not--oh, whatever. You're going to take the piss out of me regardless, so you might as well just get on with it.'

'Fun though taking the piss out of you is, Tyler, there's work to be done. I know it surprises you that some of us take our jobs seriously--and turn up on time--but there you have it. And what you also have is a suspect down at the nick who's waiting for you to talk to him. Bloke's a complete nutter, so it's right up your street. Look lively, there's a good lad. I'm sure Nellie and Petunia here can do the washing up while you're gone.'

Ripper bristles a little, and Sam takes a quick step forward to make sure he's between them. 'Give me five minutes, Guv, and I'll be out.'

Gene considers this, then shrugs and walks back out. 'You're an odd one, Tyler, and no mistake.'

Sam shuts the door behind him--or pushes it to, anyway; the lock is completely useless--and rests his forehead on it. 'You don't know the half of it,' he says.

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

The TARDIS door opens into a graveyard. Rhys pokes his head out, then takes a tentative step outside. 'Looks like Sunnydale all right. Do you know what year it--'

The words are choked off as he gets bowled over by a running figure that slams full-tilt into him. They both go crashing to the ground. Rhys rolls over and lies still for a moment, winded, then realises that lack of air isn't the only reason he's having trouble moving: something heavy is pinning him down. He opens his eyes and looks straight into a mouthful of snarling fangs.

He blinks, then does what any normal man would do under the circumstances. He recovers his breath and screams his head off.

It buys him a second or two, as the vampire actually flinches a little from the sound. Before it can move back in towards his neck it's hauled off, dumped on the damp grass and unceremoniously staked. A shower of ash explodes in the air, but without the whooshing sound that Rhys has come to associate with it. He can't help but feel a little disappointed.

A hand reaches down towards him and a voice says, 'Hey, you all right?'

A female voice.

A _familiar_ female voice.

He reaches up and grabs the hand, and lets it pull him to his feet. His eyes track slowly from the hand to the arm it's attached to, encased in the sleeve of a camel-coloured coat, and up to the shoulder, the neck and finally the face. Her hair is long, curling past her shoulders, and she looks thin and more than a little worn around the edges. Whatever point they've arrived at, it's definitely after the high school years.

In her other hand is a bucket of something that smells like KFC. His stomach rolls, but he's not quite sure whether that's from adrenalin, hunger or just the sheer fact that it's _her_ standing right in front of him. He realises he should know better, but he's still shocked by just how small she really is.

She runs a quick, practiced glance over him. 'You're fine, ' she says. 'Go home, now. And try to remember that the short cut through the cemetary is never a good idea, okay?' She sounds tired, almost to the point of disinterest, and turns away without without waiting for a response. She resumes walking--or more accurately, trudging. Her head is down, her shoulders hunched. She seems to have forgotten him already.

'Buh,' he says.

She turns her head, but doesn't stop. He tries again. 'Buh. Buh?'

Jack and the Doctor come running. 'What's going on?' Jack says. 'Is anyone hurt?'

'Buh,' Rhys says.

Buffy finally comes to a halt. Her gaze flicks to them and back again, and she nods at Rhys. 'I think maybe your friend hit his head.'

The Doctor grabs Rhys's shoulders and turns him around, peering into his eyes. 'No, no, he's fine. He's just from Cardiff.'

Buffy looks from one to the other. A touch of confusion brings a little animation to her expression, but not much. Jack steps forward, his hand held out. 'Hi. I'm Captain Jack Harkness. This is the Doctor, and that's Rhys.'

She stares at his hand for a second, then shrugs and gives it a swift shake. 'Buffy Summers.'

'_Buh_,' Rhys says.

The Doctor pats his arm. 'Yes, yes, well done. Good work.'

Buffy starts to edge away again. 'Well, you guys have a nice night, now. Just try having it somewhere else, okay? 'Cause of all the, you know--' she flaps her hand. 'Gangs on PCP.'

'Oh, you mean the vampires,' the Doctor says.

She stops and runs a hand over the back of her neck, looking down. For a minute it looks like she's just going to walk on anyway, but finally she turns and frowns at him. 'Who are you, again?'

Her voice is still flat and tired, and she doesn't really sound that interested. _Going through the motions,_ thinks Rhys, and realises where they are. Season six, it has to be.

'I'm the Doctor, that's Jack and--'

'Yeah, yeah, I got the names. But who _are _you, and what are you doing here?'

'Well, that's actually a rather long and very fascinating story,' the Doctor says, putting his hands in his pockets and appeaing in no hurry to tell it.

Buffy turns her stare on Rhys, who just stares back. Jack prods him in the arm. 'Come on, you're supposed to be our native guide here.'

Rhys blinks at him. 'Buh,' he says.

Jack looks at the Doctor over his head. 'We're doomed.'

Buffy's expression softens a little, and she almost smiles. 'You know, I've heard that said before, but so far it's never held up.'

Jack squares his shoulders and looks her in the eye. 'We're here because we're looking for you, Buffy Summers. We need your help.'

'Is that so? Well, how about you start by telling me what with?'

Jack looks at the Doctor.

'Right,' the Doctor says, taking his hands out of his pockets and clapping them together. 'Okay. Well, the short version is that there was this issue with the Rift, and--although no, really it starts when Rose absorbed the time vortex, because she--no, no, actually it starts with the Daleks because if they hadn't survived the Time War and tried to invade Earth then she wouldn't--'

Buffy holds up her hand. 'This is the short version? You know, backstory is always good but for now, is there a Cliffs Notes version? With, like, bullet points?'

'We need to know about Ethan Rayne,' says Jack.

Buffy raises her eyebrows. 'Okay, that's certainly a bullet. Why do you need to know about him? He's supposed to be tucked away safe in--' she stops. 'Wait--you said 'Captain' Harkness, right? Are you guys with the Initiative?'

Jack shakes his head. 'No. I represent an organisation called Torchwood. We're based in England. Or a version of it, anyway.'

'A version of it? Oh, you mean you're from an alternate reality?'

Jack nods, looking a little surprised. Buffy tucks her stake into the waistband of her jeans. 'You should have said. We've had experience with those.' She pauses. 'Do you have shrimp in yours?'

'Shrimp?'

Buffy waves a hand and glances around. 'Never mind. Okay, look--you better come back to the house with me, and we can talk about Ethan. I'm not exactly the world's authority on him, but I think I know a man who is.'

'Rupert Giles,' says Jack. 'They were old friends.'

Buffy nods. 'Yeah. I guess you guys have done your homework.'

Jack falls into step beside her. 'You could certainly say that.'

The Doctor gives Rhys a little push to get him moving. Buffy glances back over her shoulder. 'Is he--you know, a bit--' she breaks off and circles her finger by her temple.

The Doctor grins and pats his shoulder. 'I think he's just a bit star struck. He's a big fan of yours, you know. I was like that myself, the first time I ever met Elvis.'

Buffy narrows her eyes. 'A fan? I don't--'

Jack cuts her off, staring at the the Doctor. 'You knew Elvis Presley?'

The Doctor gives him a smug smile. 'You're not the only one with old flames, you know.'

'Buh?' says Rhys.

The Doctor nods. 'Oh, yes. You know all those rumours about him faking his death and going to live on the moon?' He taps the side of his nose. 'The basic reports weren't that far off. It was a moon orbiting Theta Kastori 3, that was all. Very exclusive place. Keep that to yourself, eh?'

Jack shakes his head as Buffy leads them out of the cemetery. 'You guys are a little strange,' she says.

'You have _no_ idea.'

'Oh, I have a passing acquaintance with strange. I doubt you could shock me.'

Jack laughs. 'Now there's a challenge if ever I heard one. We'll have to trade war stories some time.'

Buffy gives him a tiny grin. 'Did you ever get resurrected from the dead? Because if not, I'm going to win.'

The Doctor strides forward, catching them up. 'Nine times, so far,' he says cheerfully. 'Is that chicken you've got in there?'

'Nine?' says Jack. 'Is that all? I lost count at around thirty eight.' He looks at Buffy. 'Did you ever bleed out after being poisoned and having all your major organs eaten by a pack of ravening Jharga beasts? Let me tell you, that one _hurt_.'

Buffy purses her lips and doesn't response for a while. 'Huh,' she says finally, almost more to herself than to them. 'Maybe my position isn't quite as strong as I thought.'

The Doctor leans over and plucks a drumstick out of the bucket. 'We've been around the block a few times, between us. Seen a few things, here and there. Although that was in fact my very first live vampire--if you'll forgive the contradiction in terms. It's all really rather exciting.'

'Exciting? Well, that's one way of looking at it.'

He reaches down again, and Buffy hands him the bucket. 'Here. There are fries at the bottom, too. Help yourself.'

'Don't mind if I do, thanks.'

When they arrive at the house, it looks exactly as it did on screen. Rhys puts his hand on the door after Buffy pushes it open. It's solid. Real.

As are the people sitting around the wooden dining table, plates and bowls spread out in front of them. Rhys can feel his mouth hanging open.

'Hey guys,' says Buffy. 'I brought dinner.' She looks at the remnants of food on the table then takes the bucket out of the Doctor's hands and peers into it. 'Although actually it's probably a good thing you already ate.' She tosses it into the bin. 'Let's start that again. Hey, guys. I brought guests.'

Giles stands up, a half-filled wine glass in his hand. 'Buffy. Are you--is everything all right?'

'Rupert Giles,' says the Doctor, stepping forward. 'Look at you. And Willow, Tara, Dawn.' He looks back at Rhys. 'Isn't this just fantastic?'

'Buh,' Rhys says, and faints.

He comes to on the sofa, with something cool and damp pressed to his forehead. He keeps his eyes closed. Must have overdone the beer again, then. No doubt Gwen will have something to say about it, but hopefully that'll be after she's made him a nice cup of tea and maybe a bacon sandwich. Best hangover cure in the world, that. Although actually, he feels pretty good. No pounding headache, no queasy guts, no badger-died-in-it mouth. He doesn't really feel much like he's got a hangover at all. So why's he sleeping on the sofa? Is he in the doghouse? He vaguely remembers having a go about her being home so late all the time, and then...

Oh.

Coming from the kitchen he can hear the unmistakeable sound of a kettle being boiled, but somehow he doesn't think it's the one Gwen's mum got out of Argos with her Nectar points. He cracks open one eye, and sees a ceiling--a living room--that's definitely not his own.

'--thinking about re-enrolling,' says Buffy's voice, 'but I missed the registration cutoff. Busy being dead and all.'

'Well, if it's too late for late registration and too early for early,' says Willow, 'you can always come to classes with Tara and me.'

'Right. Y-you can audit for the rest of the semester until registration.'

There's a pause. 'Audit,' says Buffy. ' I-I guess I could do that. Yeah, that ... sounds like a good plan. What do you think, Giles?'

Being dead... going to classes with Willow and Tara... he knows this. He was right, it's season six--early six, with Buffy just resurrected and trying to get back to normal and having money worries and trying to get a loan and a job and _yes_, of _course_.

He tries to sit up and ends up rolling off the sofa. 'It's the Trio!' he shouts from the floor. 'The games, they've got a contest going and they're trying to test you. If you go to the college they put a thing, a device with a camera in it, Warren bumps into you and sticks it on your clothes and it speeds up time, and you get stuck, and you have to hide under the table and then there are the demons at the construction site and Xander fires you and then you try the Magic Box and there's the whole Groundhog Day thing with the mummy hand, and--and-- '

He trails off, and there's absolute silence while every eye turns to stare at him. The Doctor is sitting next to Giles, sharing the red wine. He gets up, smiling at everyone around the table. 'Concussion,' he says. 'Don't worry, he'll be fine.'

He comes over and squats by Rhys. 'What are you doing?' he whispers. 'You can't tell them what's going to happen.'

'But--no, well, not everything, I mean, some of it was, was, a bit, you know, but this, I know what they're going to do, I could help her. And Willow...Warren... if Buffy knew--'

The Doctor looks grave. 'I don't think you should interfere. And we're supposed to be looking for Ethan, and Sam Tyler, and--'

'But it all goes wrong. Horribly wrong. You haven't seen it yet, we didn't get that far, but I have. It's bad.' He lowers his voice even further. 'Tara gets _murdered_.'

'Really?' The Doctor shoots a look back at Tara, who's pouring out coffee and smiling at Willow. 'Well, that would certainly be a shame. She seems very nice.'

'She is. It's not fair. And really, who said it has to turn out that way? Well, I mean, Joss Whedon, obviously, but he's not here now. And this isn't just about telling a story any more, about doing something for dramatic effect. These people are real. This is real life now. Why do they have to follow someone else's script?'

'But we really need to find Ethan, and fix the--'

Rhys scrambles to his feet, since being sprawled on the floor doesn't seem like it's really adding the right kind of gravitas to his argument. 'I know, and we will, but surely it can't hurt to just fix this first, can it? Just the Warren thing, to save Tara. We can go and get Ethan afterwards. What harm can it do, to hang on for a few hours?'

Jack appears behind the Doctor, who also straightens up. 'What's going on?'

'We're changing history,' Rhys says, with a determined look at the Doctor.

The Doctor sighs, then turns back to face the others. 'Buffy,' he calls. 'Can we talk to you for a minute?'

'Visions,' says Buffy doubtfully.

Rhys nods.

'Okay. So, let me see if I've got this straight. You're a seer, and you get visions sent to you from the Powers That Be, and you've had one about me.'

'Yes.'

'And Ethan Rayne.'

'Yes. I mean, no. Well, I mean yes, in a way, but not at the same time. The Ethan thing is separate.'

'Who's Ethan?' says Tara.

Giles pours out another glass of wine. 'A name I'd hoped never to hear again.'

Jack gives him a sympathetic look. 'Yeah, I've got a few like that. There are always some that come back to bite you in the ass. If they weren't doing that in the first place, of course.' He winks.

Giles splutters into his wine. 'I can assure you, Ethan and I, we--it was never--'

'Okay,' says Buffy. 'Focus, people. Let's do the me thing first, and then we can do the Ethan thing.' She looks expectantly at Rhys. 'Go on.'

Rhys takes a deep breath. 'Have you noticed a van following you around? A big black van?'

Buffy shakes her head. 'Not that I saw.'

'You will. They're tracking you, watching you and figuring out ways to test you so that they can get information about your strength, speed, that kind of thing.'

'And 'they' are...?'

'They call themselves the Trio. Warren, Jonathan and Andrew. They want to be supervillains.'

Buffy blinks. ' Warren... you mean the guy who built the robots?'

'Yes. He's the ringleader. Right nasty piece of work, that one. You want to watch him. Big time.' Rhys can't help looking at Tara, who smiles back at him.

'And Jonathan Levinson? That little creep, I can't believe it. After all I've done for him.' She shakes her head. 'And who the hell's Andrew?'

'Andrew Wells. He had something to do with flying monkeys, I think. He's Tucker's brother.'

'Ohhh, right. And they want to be... supervillains?'

Rhys nods. 'They teamed up to take over Sunnydale.'

Buffy snickers. 'That's kind of... cute, almost.' She takes a sip of her coffee. 'So, your visions are really detailed, huh?'

'Like you wouldn't believe.'

'Okay, so run their plans past me again. What was all that about a mummy hand?'

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Buffy stands up, looking determined. 'Okay, I think I need to go and pay Sunnydale's Supervillains a visit.'

'We'll go with you,' Willow says, also getting to her feet.

'I got this, trust me. I think I can handle it.'

Willow smiles. 'Oh, I know. I don't think you need help, I just want to watch you put the fear of the Slayer into those guys.' She shakes her head. _'Jonathan._ I can't believe it.' She holds out her hand to Tara. 'What do you say, baby? You want to come see the show?'

Dawn jumps up before Tara can reply. 'Sounds great! Are we going now?'

'_We're_ going,' says Buffy. 'You're sitting down and doing chemistry homework. And the dishes. Not necessarily in that order.'

Dawn pouts, and sits down again with obvious reluctance, her arms folded.

Tara smiles and squeezes her shoulder. 'Maybe I should stay and watch Dawn.'

'I don't need to be _watched_,' Dawn mumbles, scowling at everyone in turn. 'What am I, a TV?'

Giles takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. 'I'll stay with Dawn,' he says.

Buffy gives him a concerned look. 'Giles, are you all right?'

He nods. 'It's just--a little headache, that's all. You go, Dawn and I will be fine here.'

Rhys grabs his coat and heads for the door. At Buffy's look, he shrugs. 'I think I should be there too. In case I get, you know--' he taps his temple. 'More visions.'

Jack nods and claps him on the shoulder. 'Let's go kick some ass.' He looks expectantly at the Doctor, who's watching Giles.

'I think I'll stay here,' the Doctor says, 'and start getting some of the sordid details on our friend Ethan.'

'Not too sordid,' Buffy warns. 'Not in front of Dawn.'

That earns her another pout, and a single raised eyebrow from Giles. She waves away both. 'Okay, those who are going, let's go.'

'Hold on a second,' Rhys says. 'We need someone else.'

'We do?'

'Spike,' he says.

'Oh, come on. It's one thing Willow wanting to play studio audience, but I really don't think I need Spike's help with these guys.' She narrows her eyes. 'Unless there's something you're not telling me...?'

Rhys shakes his head. 'No. Not like that. Trust me, I've got a plan.' He grins at Jack. 'I've always wanted to say that, and be talking about more than going out to pick up a Chinese take-away after the footie.'

Jack shakes his head, but he hides a smile in his hand while he does it.

Buffy shrugs. 'Okay,' she says. 'We'll go by Spike's crypt on the way.'

* * *

The door opens slowly, and Rhys can see Jonathan with one hand in his pocket and his head turned away: he's obviously talking to someone behind him.

'--turn to pay. I bought the ice cream when we were down at the mall getting batteries, and--' he breaks off as he finally faces front. The wallet he'd pulled out of his jeans drops to the floor.

'Hi,' Buffy says brightly. 'Can Warren come out to play?'

Jonathan stammers something incoherent as she steps past him, followed by Willow, Tara, Rhys and Jack. Spike brings up the rear, and pushes the door shut behind him. He looks Jonathan up and down. 'What am I doing here again?' he mutters.

Jonathan flattens himself against the wall. 'What's going on? What do you want?' He looks at Jack, and Rhys, and leans forward a little. 'Who are you?'

Jack waves a hand. 'Just passing through, don't mind us.' He nods towards Buffy. 'You might want to mind her, though.'

Buffy steps in front of Jonathan and folds her arms. 'I can't believe you would do this. You, of all people. Haven't you learned better by now?'

'What-- how-- what--?'

'Don't even bother trying to play the innocent with me, mister. I know. I know everything. You, and Warren Mears and, and--the other one--with your stupid games. I mean, supervillains? How _old_ are you?'

Jonathan's expression seems like it can't decide between shock, horror or tears. Buffy looks disgusted. 'Oh, get out of here. Go on, go. And if you want to get girls, just join a dating agency. Trust me, evil minion doesn't carry anywhere near as much weight as good sense of humour.'

Jonathan looks around like a startled rabbit for a few seconds then bolts for the door. Tara watches him go, a thoughtful expression on her face. 'He has some power, you know,' she says to Willow. 'I could feel it.' The door swings wide again in the wind, showing Jonathan's retreating form fleeing down the road. 'Maybe he just never had the right kind of encouragement.'

Willow links her arm and squeezes it. 'Is there anyone you can't see the good in?'

''Hey, half-pint,' calls a voice from downstairs. 'What's taking so long? It's been exactly 32 minutes, I hope you're not paying for that pizza.'

'Come on,' says Buffy, leading the way down the stairs. In the basement they find Warren fiddling with something that looks like the bastard offspring of a ray gun and a vacuum cleaner, while Andrew lounges on a bean bag playing some kind of shoot-em-up video game. They both look up, look back for a second, then look at each other.

'Fuck,' Warren says quietly. Then he's on his feet, and sprinting for the stairs like all the hounds of hell are on his tail. Which Rhys has to say wouldn't actually be much scarier than Buffy's face right now, after she's taken in the monitors showing Scenes from A Slayer's Life.

She splutters something that isn't quite coherent but definitely contains the words 'little bastards' and grabs for Warren. Her fingers snag his shirt but then Andrew throws himself forward with an impassioned wail, getting in the way and allowing Warren to escape. Buffy grabs Andrew and bodily throws him back onto the bean bag. '_Damn_ it,' she says. 'You--Thing 2--you stay put, okay?'

Andrew looks up at her with an expression that's one part defiance to three parts terror, and stays obediently put. Actually it looks more like he's simply frozen in place, but that works just as well.

Buffy takes off back up the stairs. Spike looks down at Andrew, shaking his head. 'Maggot,' he says cheerfully.

Rhys leans in. 'This is what you're here for,' he whispers.

Spike frowns at him. 'What?'

'Andrew. He's not that bad really, he... well, he has the potential to turn out all right. He just picked the wrong person to hero-worship.'

'Sucks. But what's that got to do with me?'

Rhys grins. 'You're the right person.'

'_What?_'

'It happens eventually, anyway, and it does him good. So I thought we could just bring it forward a bit. He might be useful.'

'What as, a toilet brush? Look, if you think I'm going to be babysitting some wet-behind-the-ears kid just because the Slayer's swallowed whatever bullshit line you came out with about visions, you've got--'

'You get together, you know. You and Buffy.'

Everything about Spike stops. He could be carved from stone. Finally, he swallows; a small movement of the throat. 'That's not possible,' he says, but all the power, and definitely all the certainty, has drained out of his voice.

'Yes, it is,' Rhys says, brushing away the sudden shiver of _this could go horribly wrong_ that's trying to worm its way down his spine.

'How--_how_ is it possible?'

Rhys glances at Willow and Tara, but they're engrossed with the array of gadgets on offer in the basement and don't seem to be paying any attention. 'I know,' he says. 'About what Willow did, bringing Buffy back. They don't know where she was, but I do. And I know you do, too. She told you.'

Spike also glances at Willow, and nods warily.

'She's depressed,' Rhys says. He rubs his ear, that uncomfortable feeling niggling at him again. Who is he, really, to play Joss? But once you start interfering, is it worse to stop? 'You--you help her find her way again. To feel alive again. She comes to trust you. To--' he swallows. _In for a penny, in for a pound_ '--to love you.'

Spike stares at him, disbelief and longing at war in his eyes. Before he can respond, Buffy appears at the top of the stairs. 'I lost him,' she says, looking annoyed.

'It might not matter,' Willow says. 'We got all his toys.' She waves her hand to indicate the contents of the room, including Andrew. 'That should put a bit of a crimp in his nefarious plans.'

Buffy considers this and eventually shrugs. ' I suppose so. Okay, let's start cataloguing what we've got here. And get those cameras turned off. That's seriously creeping me out.'

Tara pulls a plug out of the wall. The Magic Box camera briefly shows Anya and Xander walk into the shot, and then the screens go dark.

Buffy looks at Andrew. 'So what are we going to do with you, huh?'

Andrew looks round at them all nervously. Spike glances at Rhys, and a sudden grin flits across his face. 'Well, let me see. I think I might have an opening for a slave.'

Buffy raises her eyebrows, but Andrew's head comes up and there's an unmistakeable shine in his eyes. Rhys looks at Jack, who shakes his head and smirks. 'If the bottom ever falls out of the haulage business, you've got a future as a matchmaker,' Jack whispers. He grins. 'Not that I'd've minded auditioning for that particular vacancy myself.'

Buffy catches that, and stares at him. Jack smiles widely, unabashed. 'Don't tell me you've never thought about it' he says. 'Strength, stamina, no need to breathe, conscious control of blood circulation...' His eyes lift heavenwards. 'It doesn't get much better than that.'

Buffy's eyes flick to Spike, who's staring at Jack. A flush creeps into her cheeks. 'Can we get back to the thwarting of evil plans part? Remember, we've still got Ethan Rayne to worry about.'

'True,' says Jack, all business again. 'We should get back, see how the Doctor's getting on.'

They bundle up the most obviously portable of the basement's treasures, and Spike hauls Andrew out by the ear. Rhys sidles up to him. 'Andrew,' he says, 'tell me where he's gone. It'll go better if you do, trust me.'

Andrew looks at him blankly. 'Warren,' Rhys says. 'You must have had a fall-back position, right? Somewhere to meet and regroup in case it all went wrong. Where is it?'

Andrew looks at him nervously. 'Why? What are you going to do to him?'

Rhys flits a look at Willow. 'Hopefully, save his life. It's better I find him than the others, trust me.'

Andrew's expression is agonised, but after a moment he visibly sags. 'Okay. But don't tell him I told you, all right? If we got separated during a-- you know, a mission, we were supposed to meet up at my place. It's on Ninth and Walnut, number 6721. You can't miss it, my mom painted all the woodwork pink. Barbie pink. Tucker said--'

'Yeah, okay, thanks.' Rhys nudges Jack. 'Uh,' he says loudly. 'We just need to pop back to the, uh, to our car and get some stuff. You lot carry on, we'll meet you back at the house.'

Buffy waves. 'Okay, whatever.'

'What are you doing?' asks Jack as they peel away. 'The Doctor might need--'

'We'll be back soon. But this isn't enough, it won't put Warren off. If he hangs around here he'll just end up trying again, and it could all still happen. We need to make sure he leaves, and stays gone.'

'And how do you propose we do that?'

'By showing him what happens if he doesn't.'

* * *

Once Jack demonstrates that physical resistance is futile, Warren comes quietly. They frog-march him out to the TARDIS and throw him inside. Rhys steps to the holo-projector and cues up the end of _Villains._

Warren stares at them. 'Who the hell are you people? What do you want with me? You can't just go barging into people's homes and abducting them against their will, you--'

'We're from the future,' Rhys says.

Warren shuts up. He looks around him, seeming to take in the TARDIS for the first time. He whistles softly.

'You're a smart kid,' Rhys says, 'so do the smart thing and listen to me. I know what happens to you, Warren Mears, and it isn't pretty.'

Warren stares at him, eyes wide.

'It goes bad,' Rhys says. 'Very bad. You don't take over Sunnydale, you don't beat Buffy. You end up killing Katrina.'

Warren flinches, the air audibly leaving his body. 'I-- what?'

'You heard me. Katrina dies. And Buffy finds out. I don't need to tell you what that means, do I?'

Warren still looks shell-shocked. 'She kicks my ass?' he offers softly.

Rhys nods. 'And so you go after her a final time. With a gun. You shoot her, but she lives. Tara doesn't.'

'Tara...? The blonde? Willow's girlfriend?'

'Willow's girlfriend. And if you think Buffy kicks your arse, you can't imagine what Willow does.'

Warren's starting to look a little sick. Rhys doesn't feel a great deal better himself, but this has to be done.

'In fact, you don't have to imagine it. I can show you. If you don't leave Sunnydale right now, and never look back, this is how your life ends.'

He flicks the switch on the projector and all three of them watch the image of a black-haired Willow pursuing Warren through the woods. Rhys turns the sound up at the moment of the actual flaying. Willow's "bored now" echoes off the walls.

When it's over, Warren falls to his knees and vomits quietly. Rhys turns away and leans on the console, wiping a hand across his clammy forehead. Jack briefly squeezes his shoulder, then steps forward.

'Go,' he says to Warren.

Warren gets shakily to his feet and nods. He doesn't look at either of them. Jack opens the door and he stumbles out. 'Well,' Jack says, 'I think that--'

He breaks off as Buffy pushes through the door in place of Warren. 'Okay, I want to know exactly what you guys are up to. We followed you and--' she stops, her eyes tracking round the inside of the TARDIS. 'Whoa,' she breathes. 'What is this place?'

Willow appears behind her. 'Wow,' she says. 'Did you--' She breaks off, and when she speaks again her voice is very quiet. 'What's that?'

They all look at her. She's pointing at the projector, which is still running. It's moved straight on to _Two To Go_, and the Buffy-image's voice is very loud when it says _Will's got an addictive personality, and she's just tasted blood. _

They all stare at it. Willow looks at Buffy, then at Rhys and Jack. 'What is that?' she asks again. Tara puts a concerned hand on her arm, and she flinches. Spike stands in the doorway, and lights a cigarette. 'Fuckin' weird day,' he says.

Jack reaches out and shuts the projector off. It leaves the room very silent. 'It's hard to explain,' Rhys says.

Buffy's expression is unreadable. 'Try.'

Rhys looks at Jack, who shakes his head. 'I never thought I'd say these words again, but this is a new experience for me.'

Rhys takes a deep breath. 'Honestly, I'm not sure I can explain. We need the Doctor.'

Buffy folds her arms. 'Fine. Let's go and talk to him. But between you, someone is going to start giving me answers.'

* * *

Dawn flops on the sofa with a Coke while Giles tops up his wine. 'Ethan,' he says, then stops. 'Ethan was someone I knew when I was young and foolish. He was--is--not a good person.' He takes a sip. 'Oh, he's not actively evil, but he's extraordinarily self-centred and has a deep and abiding love of taking risks and causing trouble, so--' he breaks off and gives the Doctor a small smile. 'Let's just say I'm not surprised to hear his name quoted as a source of problems. What's he done this time? Escaped from the Initiative, I presume?'

The Doctor nods. 'Quite ingeniously, I have to say. He piggybacked a rather large flare in a temporal rift and transferred his consciousness out of his present body and into a previous version of it. Effectively, he time-travelled into his own younger self.'

Giles rubs his cheek. 'I see. Yes, that is rather impressive. Very Ethan. Where is this temporal rift? I had no idea there were such things.'

'There are now. This particular one is in Cardiff. In 2006.'

'I _see_. So... Ethan has travelled from the future into the past?'

'Yep. And we need to find him, because he accidentally took someone else with him. We need to get them both back, or, you know--' The Doctor waves his hands. 'The whole dire consequences thing.'

'Yes, I am familiar with the concept. What it is you need me to do?'

'The problem is, we can't find him. My instrumentation is, um, not entirely familiar with the way things work here, and it's taking too long. I was hoping that someone who knew him--knew his life--might be able to guess where he would have gone. When, I mean.'

Giles leans back in his chair. 'Ethan and I parted company a long while ago, when we were both in our early twenties. What he would consider his halcyon days, I'm simply not sure.'

The Doctor's shoulders sag a little. 'Bugger,' he says softly.

Giles takes off his glasses, reaches up and massages his temple. 'Blasted headache,' he says. 'I'm sorry, do excuse me. I think I need some aspirin.'

'Stay there, I'll get it.' The Doctor stands up. 'Dawn, do you have any aspirin?'

She nods and jumps off the sofa. 'Sure. Buffy eats Tylenol by the bucketload. I'll get some.'

She starts rummaging around in one of the kitchen drawers. The Doctor fills a glass of water and takes it back to the table. 'Sorry to be rude,' he says, 'but you look awful.'

Giles gives him a pained smile. 'No doubt the legacy of a lifetime of getting knocked unconscious. I'm sorry--about Ethan, I mean. That I can't be of more help.'

The Doctor waves a hand. 'Don't worry. We'll find him.'

'You said that someone else had been taken. Is it a friend of yours?'

'No, it's nobody we know. I think poor Sam was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

'Sam?'

'Sam Tyler. A policeman from Manchester. Ended up like Ethan, with his body in 2006 and his mind who knows where.' He pushes the glass of water across the table. 'Here, you should drink this, it--' He pauses. 'Giles? What is it?'

Giles lets out a shaky breath, then grits his teeth against an obvious wave of pain. His eyes screw tightly shut. The Doctor leans forward, concerned, and Giles lays a hand on his arm.

Wait,' he says. 'I... I knew a Sam Tyler. A Detective Inspector.'

'You did? '

'Yes, I...I remember we'd gone to Manchester to source some ingredients for the Eyghon ritual, and we got arrested. I got away with the others, but Ethan was taken to the cells and that's where he met Sam. We stayed with him for a while, because... because...' He stares at the Doctor, frowning. 'My God, of course. Because he'd also time-travelled from the future, and he had a power source that Ethan wanted to... to use, and ...' He shakes his head. 'How could I not have remembered this before?'

The Doctor grips his arm. 'Because it didn't happen before. This is the effect of Ethan being in the past--we're seeing the results of what he's changing, happening right now. This is fantastic.'

'Well,' says Giles, 'I'm not sure I'd exactly call it--'

His words break off. The Doctor's hand comes crashing down on the table, as the arm underneath it disappears. He looks up, at the empty seat in front of him. Giles is gone.

'Oh,' he says. 'Now _that's_ not good.'

TBC


End file.
